


A Lesson Before Striding

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-05-11
Updated: 2014-03-23
Packaged: 2017-11-05 04:37:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 73,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/402499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes you wonder if everyone would have been better off if you had never been born at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just some information before we begin here: THIS IS GOING A LONGFIC! If I had to guess, 20-30 chapters, maybe a bit more. This also means that characters and relationships are developed over time so... if that's your thing, I encourage you to give it a shot! Speaking of which, the M rating will go up later. So to answer the question before it's asked: yes, there will be some smut. Later. After development. :)
> 
> And as always, you can follow my tumblr page (stridemother.tumblr.com) if you'd like to read up on more information. For posting fanart, comments, etc., use the tag #ALBSTRI. You can also follow that tag for general information about the fic. Just ALBSTRI updates will be found in the tag #albstriupdates. Finally, you can read ALBSTRI on my tumblr page, in order, at http://stridemother.tumblr.com/tagged/albstriupdates/chrono
> 
> Special thanks to betareaders tenorit, goodtofufriday, and nikineon.
> 
> Okay. Enough stalling. Let's get this show on the road. Enjoy.

**AUGUST 1997 - HOUSTON, TEXAS**

 When you were a little boy, you ran away from home. After packing some of your treasured belongings, a couple articles of clothing, and your toothbrush in a little knapsack, you had walked right out the front door. You felt particularly smart at that moment; of course you hadn’t forgotten to load up your knapsack with snacks, including a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. You had enough packaged fruit snacks and snack bags of Cheez-Its to last you at _least_ a year. You were five years old and you had every reason to believe that you were the baddest and smartest ass there ever was.

It wasn’t because of ironic purposes, even though later in life you would tell everyone otherwise. Yet deep down you’d remember that it was actually just you reaching out for help in your own youthful way. You wanted attention. Specifically, your older brother’s attention. Specifically, you wanted his attention _away_ from the youngest brother of your little broken family. _Specifically_ , you wanted his attention _back onto you_.

Dave Strider was only three years old and Big Bro didn’t miss a single second of coddling and cradling him. Although silent and stoic when he went about doing it, there was an obvious lack of attention towards you and a distinct over-fondness towards Dave. Bro didn’t call you ‘li’l man’ anymore. He didn’t spoon-feed you anymore. He didn’t tuck you in anymore, and that was probably the one that hurt the most.

So, whether it was out of spite for your lonely family of three, or just because you felt unneeded and like a burden to your elder brother, you just up and left. Down the street you walked, straight-backed, without even a hint of feeling lost (even though you had been nothing but an aimless renegade). Nobody questioned you.

However, your pride didn’t last long after you realized that you _had_ gotten lost. Unknowingly, you circled the buildings only a block away from your own, going around and around and not even noticing that the drug store you kept passing was the same exact one.

You were getting nervous because your supply of fruit snacks had gotten (mysteriously) low, your sandwich was gone, and the sun was setting in the west. The air temperature was dropping rapidly and so was the number of people actually walking around.

There was one person who had not gone back inside, however. He was following you close behind, but not close enough to attract your attention. His hands were shoved in the pockets of his work pants and the brim of his cap was pulled down low. The more flustered you got, the less attentive you were. You hadn’t even noticed when he was a mere thirty feet behind you.

Luckily for you, he hadn’t followed you with the intent to pick you up and take you away to God knows where. He hadn’t followed you for money. He hadn’t followed you to take advantage of your youth and make you do something you’d regret.

He was your silent protector.

Even in the dark, as he followed you down block after block and into the little community park, he wore his garish shades. Still, you hadn’t noticed his presence. You were too busy struggling to crawl up onto a bench (you were just a touch too short for your age), all the while whimpering and moaning about your aching feet.

You slowly ate a snack bag of Cheez-Its; it did nothing to help the unsettling feeling in your tummy. You wished you had thought the whole plan through more. You kinda wanted to go home.

Home, to your nice warm apartment that wasn’t really that nice, but was still home. Home, where you were protected from rain or shine, from hail or windstorms. You realized just how important ‘home’ was. Who would hold you tightly in their arms as a thunder storm raged overhead? Who would pass you a quarter in the supermarket and tell you to buy a gumball? Who would cut your McDonald’s cheeseburgers for you so you could fit it in your tiny mouth?

Who was going to come to the rescue and rock you and rub your back when you had nightmares about your mommy and daddy leaving you and your brothers?

Those nights had been the worst in your life. All you remembered about your parents were their backs as they walked out the door. What you mostly remember was Bro screaming behind them. The only time you had ever seen him cry. You remember his socks, worthless and full of holes, as he sprinted after them down the hall. You remember him begging them not to leave, you remember the slap, you remember him kneeling in the middle of the hall, tears running down his reddened face, hands lying palm-up on the floor on either side of his body.

Once you were old enough to understand what happened, you had nightmares. Bro had always been your rock in that situation. He always seemed to calm you down whenever he was there, even when you asked ‘Why did they leave us? Do mom and dad hate us?’ and he just kept silent. You had grown up not knowing if the people who had _birthed_ you actually loved you.

It never occurred to you that Bro didn’t know either. You had been three; Dave, an infant; Bro, fifteen. It never occurred to you that maybe, just maybe, Bro was just as scared as you were. Scared that he was suddenly the father figure in two baby boys’ lives. Scared that he had to drop out of school. Scared that he had to beg on the streets. Scared that you or Dave would die of dehydration while he was gone. Always, always scared.

Just as scared as you were as you sat on that park bench alone in the dark.

Your eyes welled up with tears. Red in the face, your little hand flew up to your cheeks and slap-rubbed them away. But they didn’t stop coming and for a few minutes you just sat there. You cried and cried, not knowing what was more of a burden to your older brother: you living in that little family of three or running away.

“Dirk. What did I tell you about crying?”

Your head snapped up and there he was, regal and cold as stone. He was eighteen, but he looked like a grown man with the gaunt, bony structure of his face and the permanent black shadows under his eyes that could just be seen poking out from the bottom of his pointed shades. He was standing under a lamp post, his entire body illuminated. You thought that maybe it was a dream, but when you squeezed your eyes shut and opened them again, he was still there.

Your brother lifted his gloved hand and beckoned you towards him with the crook of one finger. Sheepishly, you slid off the bench and forced your tired, wobbling legs to walk to him. When you stepped into the light of the lamp, Bro knelt. In his hand he held a small, kid-sized blanket. It was your favorite orange blanket. The very same blanket you hid from Bro every morning before you got out of bed so he wouldn’t know you couldn’t sleep without it.

You didn’t go for the blanket. Instead, you teetered right to him and grabbed the front of his shirt in your hands. You buried your face there. You smelled factory smells; metal, paper clips, staples. You smelled Bro’s job that barely gave your family enough money to pay bills, much less buy a meal suitable for a growing child. Bro was really skinny and had weird, jutting bumps beneath his shirt where his ribs stuck out. It wasn’t unusual for him to skip eating for the day to make sure you and Dave were fed.

You remembered why you ran away in the first place and began to cry into Bro’s shirt. You didn’t want him to give up anything more for you. You didn’t want him to sleep out on the couch in the living room with his body being too long to fit on it.

Bro wrapped his skinny arms around you as tight as he could and rubbed your back, nearly lifting you right off of your feet in his embrace. He was shaking.

“I’m trying really hard, Dirk. I’m so sorry.”

Those words would haunt you for the rest of your life.

When he pulled you away, your entire face was blotchy and your eyes were puffy from crying so hard. Bro’s lips twitched up into a tiny, tiny smile. He reached up and slid his shades off to reveal his eyes. Despite the bloodshot whites of his eyes and the swollen, tired lower lids, his sharp amber-rung pupils dug into you. In his eyes you saw your own. You saw the same exact vividly colored shade of the irises, the same exact long, dark eyelashes, and the same exact _fear_.

The connection was held for only held for a second. Bro slipped the shades onto your own face and gently stroked your fair, near-white blonde hair behind your ear.

“You need to start protecting your eyes like me,” Bro lectured, taking your face in his hands and thumbing away the tear streaks. “Sensitive Strider eyes run in the family. Keep them safe, li’l man.”

Your lower lip wibbled again, and Bro just pressed your lips down with his thumb.

“Striders don’t cry,” he said softly, his face stern but his eyes soft as he looked into your eyes and straight into your soul, even with the shades obstructing his view. “We don’t cry, and we _especially_ don’t run away. Three Strider brothers for life, no matter what. Lesson learned?”

You nodded clumsily, and the shades were nearly knocked off your face. Bro cracked a grin for the first time in a long time before gathering you up in your blanket and hoisting you up into his arms. Even though he was thin, he was warm, and you fell asleep quickly to the smooth, rocking sensation of his graceful stride.

When you woke up again, you were safely at home and on the futon, sprawled across Bro’s chest. You were still groggy from sleep, but Bro’s lesson continued to ring in your head, strong and true. Bro’s lesson before striding.

 

 

**YEARS IN THE FUTURE, BUT NOT MANY**

**AUGUST 2008 - HOUSTON, TEXAS**

“Dirk, get your shit together.”

Your bright amber eyes snap open and pupils dilate in the somewhat shaded mid-afternoon sun. Your shades have been partially knocked from your face, but you are covered just enough to protect your hyper-sensitive eyes from the glaring sun above.

“Sorry, Bro,” you mumble, easily sitting up with a flex of your abdomen. Your black wifebeater sticks to your sweaty skin like hot glue as you sit there, hunched over with your legs crossed and your elbows resting on your thighs. It doesn’t do much to sooth the ache in your bones from strifing with your brothers all day.

Bro sighs hard through his nose, his face not even shining with sweat. You swear you can see his eyes flash with anger from behind his own shades. He goes to you and stands there, stoic as always. You look up at him impassively, noticing Dave ghosting around behind him, a silent observer of the approaching shitstorm. Like Bro, he looks unfazed by the strife session, even though he had fought much harder than you. Dave’s face is just as chill and emotionless as yours.

“I’m not going to go easy on you,” Bro warns, pointing the tip of his sword straight at your nose. “You can either learn how to pick up this self defense shit that I’m layin’ down, or I’ll fuck you up big time. Jesus Christ. Dave’s fourteen and you can’t even fucking block a few simple moves? You’re a fuckin’ joke, kid.”

With that, Bro starts towards the rickety elevator (recently fixed, thank the lord), sword tip scraping against the cement and kicking up sparks. He pauses.

“Get it together, or don’t bother coming up to the roof anymore,” he says to you, his voice a low snarl.

He then finally stalks off, the brim of his cap pulled down low and an angry hitch in his stride. Before he gets in the elevator, he kicks the iron gate once, cusses, and disappears.

And then it’s just you and your kid brother.

“Nice strife,” Dave says monotonously. The sympathetic way in which he sets his jaw and outstretches a hand towards you betrays his tone. Your face steely and ice cold, you brush Dave off and hop to your feet in one graceful step. You’re taller than Dave by several inches, even when the kid isn’t slouching his ass off. However, you carry yourself in such a way that you tower over him as if you are double his height.

“If getting my shit handed to me on the curve of one of Bro’s bulbous foam asses counts as a ‘nice strife’, then yes. Yes, it was a nice strife. Yeah, a real fucking good time, champ,” you spit with biting, quiet sarcasm. Even though the inflection in your voice doesn’t change much from its usual flatline tone, you know it’s significant enough of a difference for Dave to notice. Which he does.

“Dirk, you can stop being a wordy little pussy at any time,” he says. What he really means is ‘ _Dirk, I’m not the bad guy here’_. You suppress a scoff. The little asshole loved his words to be dripping wet with irony. Well, two could play at that game.

“Yeah? Talk to me when your voice stops cracking and maybe I’ll be more inclined to bother listening to the shit coming out of your mouth, Coolkid,” you counter, your voice still barely above a murmur. You mean ‘ _fuck off_ ’.

This time, Dave’s brows furrow over his stupid rounded shades that he got from one of his friends. He doesn’t say another word as he steps around you and makes his way to the elevator.

You stand there for a second, contemplating shit and calculating the time it would take for you to burn to a crisp out in the Texan sun and blow away in the humid, uncomfortable breeze.

“Shower’s yours first,” Dave calls through the elevator gate. Your fingers clench on the katana you had unconsciously picked up off the ground. “I don’t _need_ one.”

You’re whirling around so fast that your hand is a blur. Hot steel shoots out of your loose hold on it and bolts through the air like lightning. It just barely grazes the elevator gate bars and sinks its razor sharp teeth into the wall just behind and to the side of Dave’s head. Dave just stands there as the elevator descends, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Sweet throwing star, dude,” he says. He plucks it out of the wall behind him and observes it. “Maybe someday I’ll grow up to be just as anime as you, _Dirk-chan_.”

Dave disappears just as your cheek twitches. Thank God your face is already pink from the heat, because you seem to burn a million degrees hotter with Dave’s mocking words. He had never let you live it down for forgetting to delete your browser history on that fateful day two years ago. Somehow, there was no recovering from having your brothers find out that you have a completely serious and unironic obsession with _Bleach_ and manga and Japan and _My Little Pony_ for fuck’s sake.

When the initial humiliation fades, it takes a moment or so for the smoldering anger to turn into a twisting inferno of rage. You spin on your heel and charge at the nearest air conditioning unit. You easily scale it like the nimble, swift fighter that you are, then jump up onto the lowest rung of the radio tower beside it. You scramble up half of it, then three quarters, and then you’re at the top. Here, the wind is powerful, and it nearly blows you right off the fucking thing, but you remain firmly attached to it no matter how much it bends in the wind.

When you’re sure your voice will be unheard, just as it always is, you inhale deeply. It all comes rushing out a second later, all of your frustration, all of your embarrassment and fury, all of your spite. It’s in the form of a roar. Not a scream, not a shriek, but a roar that makes your head vibrate with its sheer _volume_. Your ribcage, painfully sharp against the skin pulled too-taut over it, contracts and squeezes your lungs. It pushes the air through your throat, tears it and renders it raw and throbbing. It rattles your teeth. It puts too much pressure behind your eyes.

Yet it feels so good. Here, you’re bellowing so loud that, if your voice could carry over the wind, you’d be heard. You don’t feel so insignificant, like the middle brother that nobody sees. Up here, you don’t feel like a burden.

You’re just another voice ripped away by the wind, never to be heard.

_Your name is DIRK STRIDER, the original li’l man of the STRIDER FAMILY. You are SIXTEEN YEARS OLD and the MIDDLE BROTHER in your pathetic family of three borderline homeless brothers. There is a stark and infuriating difference between you and your brothers. While they are the EPITOME OF COOL and EVERYTHING ATTRACTIVE IN THE WORLD, you are much easier to upset and anger. You’re much easier to BREAK. Unlike them, your skin is not tan and flawless, the muscles in your arms not toned and instead hidden under a sheath of fair, freckled flesh. You believe you received the SHORT END OF THE STICK when it comes to your genetic setup._

_You are quite savvy in advanced ROBOTICS. This has led you to hours upon hours of locking yourself away in the SPARE ROOM to fiddle and build and take apart and fiddle again. Your brothers are certain that that’s the cause of your FAIR, EASILY SUN-BURNABLE SKIN and your FRAGILE BUILD. This only causes you to WITHDRAW FURTHER INTO YOURSELF. Subsequently, you have a tendency to feel LONELY and ISOLATED, and no matter how hard you try, you always feel like a BURDEN to the family. Sometimes you wish you had grown up secluded, AWAY FROM THE WORLD, on your own little ISLAND where nobody would be there to be disappointed in you. Then again, you’re NOT SURE HOW MUCH MORE LONELINESS YOU CAN TAKE._

_DANE is your ELDER BROTHER, and you look almost exactly the same in terms of FACIAL STRUCTURE, but he still treats Dave with HIGHER REGARD. This has gone on for so long that you have a secret, deep-set respect driven out of IRRATIONAL FEAR of your elder brother, all while harboring BITTER ANIMOSITY towards your younger brother. As aforementioned, this has left you very ALONE and INSECURE in your own household._

_Oh, and on top of that, you think you might BE SWINGING FOR THE SAME TEAM._

What will you do?

 

You take a shower, that’s what.

Under the hot spray of softwater (the only thing that Bro puts any _real_ money towards funding is avoiding hard water at all costs; a Strider’s gotta rock the hair), you feel your anger slip off your body and down the drain. It gives you a chance to think, to quell your rage, maybe to sing. Yes, you enjoy singing sometimes. Quietly of course, and when you’re protected by the loud drumming of water against the single glass panel that separates you from the ears of the rest of the world.

Taking a long time in the shower has pretty much always been a thing for you, so Dave and Bro leave you alone for the most part. They don’t accuse you of jacking off or anything. You never really do that in the shower, anyway. You actually have a weird obsession with cleanliness, and spend most of the time during showers to thoroughly rid your body of dead skin, dirt, sweat, and any other minor imperfections.

Sometimes you enjoy just standing there, absently thinking about robotics, or maybe the reason behind your existence. A lot of the time you think about food and hope to yourself that your dinner will consist of more than a half a slice of cold pizza or leftover canned corn from the night before. That’s really all your family can afford.

Despite the circumstances, Bro is adamant about you and Dave staying in school and maintaining good grades. Of course this means that, while you could be earning vital money for the family, Bro forces you to sit down and study on the weekdays and only permits a cheap weekend job. The cost of a high-rise apartment in the big city is pretty steep, so most of the money earned goes towards paying the damn rent. Leftover money goes towards other bills and required funds. The final scraps of money get scraped together to buy thirty cent cans of food. By food, you mean complete shit. There’s only so much spam and canned meats that a growing young man can handle.

When you’re spotless, you step out of the shower and towel yourself off. When you step in front of the mirror, you slide your hands up and down your sides and your front, trying to tell yourself that your abs are toned works of art like your brothers’. They’re not. Sure, you have a very faint six pack if you flex hard enough, but other than that, you’re flat and dangerously bony and insignificant and inferior and _God_ , you are so goddamn alone.

You’ve had enough of criticizing your own body, so you turn away with your poker face solidly in place. Being alone and able to actually let secret emotions loose has its advantages, but your unbreakable straight face has become a security blanket and a shield for you. It comes naturally now, and although your insides were churning with disgust, someone outside of your skin would never be the wiser.

Such are the inner thoughts of the elusive Strider who, for as long as you can remember, has been believed to be quite confident in his appearance and his strength. A ‘coolkid’. There is nothing ‘cool’ about you.

You emerge from the bathroom twenty minutes later, dressed in nothing but a pair of baggy sweatpants with a hole in the knee and a loose fitting black tank-top. You hear voices the second you’re out the door. Dropping instantly into defensive mode, you creep (which is to say walk calmly) down the hall and towards the unusual sound of people actually _communicating_.

In the kitchen, you come face to face with your elder brother and another man sitting at the kitchen table. The lights are all on, so you know immediately that the other guy is safe to be around. He appears to be quite a bit younger than Bro, perhaps around twenty two or twenty three. His build is similar to Bro’s; big strong arms, a broad chest, and powerful legs. However, his eyes completely betray his burly appearance. They’re green. Emerald green. They’re shining and full of life and cooped-up energy and warm fondness. Even though the house looks like complete shit around him, his smile is big and toothy and true. You notice that he has been drinking because of the pink color dusting the tops of his cheeks.

Bro goes silent and looks at you where you stand in the doorway. In turn, the other man turns to you as well, his interest piqued. He’s wearing rectangle black-rim glasses, and his pitch black hair is a jumbled mess upon his head. It occurs to you that the guy may have some sort of different ethnic background in him, because the next thing you notice is his creamy olive skin tone. _Then again_ , you think to yourself as you look down at his cargo shorts, _he may just be sporting a sicknasty tan_. You can dig it. The final thing you notice is the green skull on his t-shirt and the unbuttoned forest green vest hanging on his shoulders.

Conclusion: he’s hotter than hell and for a split second longer than necessary, you keep your shaded eyes trained on him. Then you make a point to turn your head away from the other guy and back to your brother.

“Golly, Strider!” the man announces in an Australian accent. Your brow almost lifts in surprise. “You should’ve told me you had a twin! I would’ve brought a few more pints!”

He laughs loudly at himself like some sort of hyped up moron, and you have to remind yourself that he’s been drinking. This doesn’t stop you from blinking behind your shades, the Strider equivalent of jumping out of your skin. You question Bro by straightening out your lips and giving him a pointed look.

“Jake, this is my brother, Dirk. We’re not twins. Kid’s not even seventeen yet. Dirk, this is Jake English. He’s going to be my bunkmate in our regiment when we head overseas. Lieutenant Droog wants us all to get to know each other better.”

Your eyebrows twitch. Right. Another thing about the Strider family? Your brother’s joining the military. Going to war in the Middle East to fight a battle that isn’t his the moment you hit eighteen. This is all for the sake of getting the funds to send both Dave and you to college. Yeah, he isn’t letting you join the army. Neither you _nor_ Dave are allowed. He’s dead set on putting you through at least another four years of schooling after you graduate from the hellhole. It has been the source of a lot of tension and strife between the two of you.

“So this is the guy dragging your ass off to war,” you mutter, deadpan. Jake only laughs again.

“His voice even matches!” he downright howls. Your index finger jerks as if it’s going to close into a fist. Jake doesn’t notice. Bro does.

“How about you take this,” Bro says slowly, sliding an unopened can of beer across the kitchen table and towards you. “…and go chill in the spare for a while.”

 _Take your shitty attitude somewhere else,_ is what he really means to say. The tension spikes between you two, but Jake’s wholly oblivious to the motionless strife going down right in front of him.

“It’s okay that he takes this, right?” Bro asks, inclining his head towards Jake a little. Jake shakes his head and waves his hand dismissively.

“No, no, it’s cool, mate! As long as it’s okay with you! I brought plenty!”

With permission granted, you step forward and pick up the chilled can. The look you give Bro is cold, like ice. His face doesn’t react in the slightest bit. You don’t budge, either.

“Dirk.”

“Bro,” you respond instantly, but your voice is barely above a low growl.

Jake has gone silent now, finally catching on to the thick tension. He watches with rapt attention, his big doe eyes blinking slowly in confusion.

“Dirk,” Bro repeats. His voice quickly drops from ‘Strider deadpan’ to ‘I’m dead serious, kid, I will whoop your ass’.

Finally, you buckle under the weight of his gaze and the thirteen years he has over you. There isn’t much to question when it comes to a nearly thirty year old mass of muscle that’s twice your size.

You sigh through your nose and spin on your heels. Out of the kitchen you go, through the living room, down the hall, and finally to the very last door at the end of the ragged carpet.

Once inside, you kick the door shut. No interruptions. Just you and your toys.

The room is cluttered. Hundreds upon hundreds of odds and ends litter the floor and the work bench next to the window. You have compiled quite the collection of screws and nuts and bolts, wrenches and scrap metal, empty propane tanks and rust, screwdrivers, glass and batteries, anything a kid engineer can think of, basically. Among that mess is quite a wide variety of gears, gyros, and spark plugs.

You don’t need to worry about shoes. Nimbly, you pick your way across the floor and to the work bench, not even bothering to look down. You know where everything is, right down to the very last washer. You like it that way. It’s like… organized disorganization. Like you’re surrounded by a crowd who can never question you, but is willing to listen to every word you say.

After you’ve reached the work bench, you smack a sprocket off the stool placed in front of it and hop onto it. Hooking your ankles in the rungs near the bottom of your seat, you set your beer can down and pick up your latest project. It’s coming along nicely. It’s a little crude and boxy and dented, but you’ll have a chance to work those kinks out later. For now, you’re satisfied with the fact that, if anyone were to look at your creation, they’d be able to tell that it’s definitely a robot hand.

“A few more weeks and I’ll have your forearm ready,” you mumble to yourself, slipping off your shades so you can put on a pair of safety glasses. It’s easier to see what you’re doing without the blockage of your eyesight. “Then I’ll finally get to work on your database. If my calculations are correct, your artificial intelligence servers will be capable of actual human-to-machine communication. How does that sound?”

You tap your top lip with your tongue as you adjust yourself on your stool and pick up a phillips screwdriver.

“You’ll be the _shit_ , Squarewave,” you continue. “And when you’re finished, I’ll build you a brother-bot as well so you don’t feel left out.”

Your hand holding the handle of the screwdriver pauses for a moment. Your fingers tighten on the cold metal in your hand, and your jaw clenches for a split second.

“That’s hardly necessary though, huh?” you ask, your voice dropping into its usual barely-above-a-whisper volume. “…Since you’re already talking to a robot.”

Being as distracted as you were, you only have a split second before the spare room door randomly bursts open.

“Strider, is this the bathroo-”

You jump so hard that you nearly drop your project (by jumping you mean blink, of course). Spinning around, you face Jake, who seems to have had too much to drink. He’s peering around the room like he just stumbled into Narnia. Horrified, your eyes widen and your shoulders tense up.

“Get out,” you say under your breath, your hold tightening even more on the robot’s hand. Jake just stands there, blinking dumbly, until his eyes lock onto yours.

You realize your shades aren’t in place a second too late. While your lips are a completely neutral, straight line just as you’ve practiced and mastered, your untrained eyes are wide. Scared. Vulnerable. Utterly open.

You can’t look away and neither can Jake. It’s an intense few seconds of emerald and topaz clashing, and it has a sort of sobering effect on Jake. His eyebrows shift. His eyes finally break away from yours and travel down your body, locking onto your tank top, which has moved in such a way that outlines your jutting ribs and your starving, hollowed belly. Jake’s eyes flick back up, and something has changed in them. There’s suddenly pity there, and in an insane lapse of muted fury, your hand jerks as if you’re going to lob your robot fist at his face.

But there’s no need, because without warning there’s a hand over Jake’s eyes. Bro hovers just above his shoulder, eyes shaded but his lips pinched together in a way that said ‘ _control yourself, Dirk.’_

You watch as Bro flashsteps out of the room with Jake in tow. Your eyes remain locked on the door as it slowly swings shut.

“Here’s the bathroom, English. Be careful about where you stumble your wasted rump in this place.”

“But the younger bloke, he-”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“But Dane, I-”

You gaze emptily ahead of you as the voices disappear. Frankly, you feel as if you’d been raped. Unintentionally. In the eyes. All you know is that things just took a turn from bad to holy shit why are you such a stupid fucking idiot what’s wrong with you.

Your name is Dirk Strider, and your final level of defense has been breached.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for taking so long! Life got in the way! Usually updates will be on Fridays, but since this one took so damn long, I thought I'd release it early (late). As always, you can track the ALBSTRI tag on tumblr or go to my blog at stridemother.tumblr.com/tagged/albstri for more information.

"I don't understand why you're acting like it's the end of the fuckin' world."

You don't open your eyes, even though there's a blanket over your head.

"Dirk. Stop being so dramatic. You're acting like Dave."

When you don't answer, the blanket is forcefully pulled off your body.

"I'm brainstorming for my next project," you mumble. A hand grabs your shoulder and pulls, effectively flipping you onto your back. Bare-eyed, you blink up at Bro's shades, which peer back down at you in cold condescension.

"English doesn't know his ass from his elbow, a'ight? The shades are to protect your eyes and to look like a strict badass, not hide from people. This is a _Strider_ household, and it's time to grow a pair," Bro lectures. You sort of just go limp on your shitty mattress (supported by four luxurious milk crates and a square of plywood) and gaze up at him. Bro sets his jaw. "Don't play that cold shoulder shit with me, kid. I'll knock your block off so fast your _grandkids_ will feel it."

Out of absolutely nowhere, Dave waltzes in like the idiot he is, all wrapped up in his 'totes ironic' footie pajamas. The sight of him makes your upper lip tremble a little in disgust.

"Yo, I'm gonna hit the hay," Dave announces loudly. "See ya'll on the flip side of my sweet bed."

 _You mean the recliner_ , you think bitterly to yourself.

"Alright. Did you brush your teeth?" Bro asks. You hear Dave snort.

"Yes Daddy, my teeth are clean," Dave coos in a high-pitched voice. You look back up at Bro just in time for him to grin at Dave. You grind your teeth.

"Right. Go to bed, you little shit."

"Peace."

Bro waits for Dave to leave, then looks back down at you and studies you closely. Your face is impassive as ever, but Bro is an expert on Strider emotions.

"Don't give me that look. I'll treat you with respect when you treat _me_ with respect, kid. And not fuckin' talking to me doesn't equate to respect. It's just you being a little bitch," Bro nags. Frankly, you're over it, so you flip onto your side and face away from him.

"You're not our dad, man. Quit pretending you are," you mutter just loud enough for Bro to hear.

There's a sharp burst of pain as he slugs you in the shoulder. You're almost tempted to turn around and say something; maybe even yell. However, you know he's already gone when you hear the springs squeaking in the futon in the living room. After that, you shut off your bedside lamp (an old lamp frame with a dusty bulb) and wrap yourself in your blanket. Your eyes slide shut.

At around three in the morning, you semi-consciously hear someone creep into your room. Partially submerged in a dreamless sleep, you don't really register it until someone touches your forehead.

Your eyes peel open and you stare into the darkness as the hand strokes your bangs back over and over. The hand pauses as if the intruder knows you're awake. You relax and drop your defenses because you know it's Bro's hand. Cautiously, he continues to brush your bangs, the pad of his thumb brushing across your forehead.

"I'm trying," he repeats like he always does after a fight. A shiver goes through you at the words. "You know I'm fuckin' trying, Dirk."

Your eyelids lower. When his fingers get close to your brow, you blink once so your eyelashes brush against his fingertip. With the affirmation that you heard him, Bro pets your hair a little more. You hear a low rumble behind you, and it's the hum of a familiar yet impossibly distant melody.

Finally, you grunt and shake your head, wordlessly telling Bro to fuck off and to just let you sleep. Bro snorts at you and ruffles your hair. His presence leaves you and you lower the blanket. Your face is expressionless as you drift back to sleep.

* * *

"Dirk. Dirk."

You groan.

"Get your ass up. Get your fat ass up, man. Motherfucking pancakes. Syrup. Rivers of succulent syrup. It's motherfuckin' Christmas all up in here."

Your eyes snap open and, simultaneously, your stomach roars at you.

"I'm going to eat them all if you don't get your ass up. I swear to the mighty gods of sugary cakes from a pan, Dirk."

"How about I break hot iron off in your asshole," you deadpan. In a flash, you're up with your shades placed securely on your nose. You're at the door before Dave even straightens up from his bent over position above your bed.

Like the loud idiot he is, Dave plows through you and shoves you into the doorframe. He crashes down the hall and into the kitchen like a herd of stampeding buffalo. Kids.

(You don't want to admit it, but you run out of the bedroom pretty loudly, too.)

Bro is passed out on the futon in the living room, his cap pulled down to cover his eyes and his shades held loosely on his chest. You creep past him and pass under the archway into the kitchen. You take a whiff of the air. Oh, hell yeah. Those are definitely pancakes. What a good start to the day.

Dave's already standing beside the stove, a paper plate held in his hands. He's got a completely straight poker face on, but you can tell he's starving by the way his toes curl against the dirty linoleum floor.

Your eyes take you to the figure actually cooking over the stove. You recognize that proud stance, those broad shoulders, and those hairy Sasquatch legs.

"What are you doing here, Jake?" you ask, your voice cold and quiet. Jake doesn't hear you, but Dave does.

"Yo, back off, Dirk. Pancakes. Come on."

Now Jake turns around and spots you. Instantly, his face lights up into a bright grin. He gives you an exuberant wave with his spatula, sending a couple flecks of pancake batter flying to the floor.

"G'day, Strider!" Jake greets enthusiastically. "How'd you sleep?"

You give him a skeptical look from behind your shades.

"…Does Bro know you're here?" you ask. Jake blinks at you and cups his hand over his ear. He can't hear you over the sizzling of batter in the frying pan on the stove.

"What was that, mate? You're a tad bit too quiet."

Dave groans.

"Ignore him. He talks all quiet because he's trying to be a ninja or some stupid shit like that."

You fight down the urge to blush. You open your mouth to tell Dave that 'being a ninja' isn't what it's about, but you don't get the chance to, because Bro is suddenly beside you.

" _Who's_ here that I need to know about?" he asks. He brushes past you, barely acknowledging your presence. Jake just goes on smiling that big, dopy smile of his. His teeth jut out a little too much. You cringe at the thought of Jake with buck teeth. Before he answers Bro, he reaches up to adjust his glasses on his nose. He ends up getting pancake batter on his fucking forehead because he used the hand holding the spatula. You decide that Jake is a true, totally unironic goober and that he will probably get his ass handed to him when he goes to war.

Good. Serves him right.

"Dane! G'day to you, too," Jake greets. "The apartment was still open from last night, so I thought I'd drop by and make some breakfast!"

Bro stares at him through his shades long and hard.

Jake just obliviously turns back around and pulls the frying pan off the stove. Dave lifts his plate and is given three fat pancakes. He sits down at the kitchen table with them and slathers them in syrup, then proceeds to burn the shit out of his tongue by trying to shove nearly a whole pancake in his mouth. It's almost comical because he keeps a straight face the whole damn time. He doesn't even blink when he lets the huge chunk of molten hot sugar drop back out of his mouth. You don't laugh.

Your eyes are instead trained on Bro, who is glaring hard at Jake's back.

"Dirk, how many would you like?" Jake asks, looking halfway over his shoulder. When you don't answer, he just laughs. "Too hungry? Alright, three it is."

"What is this about?" Bro finally asks when he realizes that Jake's incapable of picking up the most basic of Strider signals.

"Just a friendly visit, mate," Jake replies, but you can tell he's lying. He's awful at it. "Dirk, you're up."

Despite the tension, despite Bro's warning glare, your feet force you to move forward. You don't want to, but you're so hungry that you're shivering and sweating in the presence of food. Thankfully, Bro doesn't stop you as you grab a paper plate and hold it up for Jake to deposit three pancakes onto it. Your stomach growls again, and ironically (the _real_ kind of irony, none of Dave's bullshit) it's loud enough for Jake to hear it. He laughs as you sit down.

"English," Bro says as Jake ladles three more scoops of pancake batter into the frying pan.

"Yes?" Jake replies in a sing-song voice. Bro's gloved fists clench and a vein in his neck puffs up a little. You're watching out of the corner of your eye as it all goes down. When you see warning signs from Bro, you slowly put your plastic fork back down on your plate and wait.

"English, for the last time," Bro hisses through gritted teeth, his chest puffing up a little. " _What's_ this about?"

Jake sighs and turns.

"Dirk and Dave are just skin and bones, Dane. So are you. And at first I thought it was one of your confound 'irony' gigs that you jabber about all the time. But then I saw these two boys, and I knew it was more than any 'ironic' stunts you're pulling," Jake explains, his doe eyes becoming somber as he and Bro just stare at each other. "And it doesn't take much to figure it out, chap."

"We don't need your pity," Bro hisses.

"Bro, he's just being ni-"

"Shut the _fuck_ up, Dave!" Bro barks. Dave shuts his mouth but his face doesn't react. Bro looks at Jake again. His eyes are ablaze with fury. "Do you think I can't even take care of my own family? What, are we scum to you? Huh?"

"Of course not!" Jake exclaims, spreading his arms imploringly and showing that he has nothing to hide. "I care about you guys!"

"You met us _last night_."

"I don't care! I want to help!"

" _We don't need help!_ " Bro explodes. Jake still stands tall. You're impressed, actually. That slight bit of respect fades when Bro ferociously turns on Dave. "You! What in the name of all that is holy compelled you to accept this shit?"

"I was hungry," Dave says. Although his voice is even, his plastic fork shudders a little as his hands shake. You're not sure if it's out of hunger or fear. Probably both. Dave takes a small breath. "I was just hungry, Bro."

Bro halts in his accusations, jaw still slightly ajar. He closes his mouth, but you can tell he's still pissed.

"Fine. English, you pull any of this shit ever again, I'll fuck you up so bad that the _military_ will be like a fuckin' merry-go-round," Bro growls, pointing a finger at Jake. Jake only smiles and lifts his spatula as if taking an oath.

"Never again, mate. You have my word," he vows, putting his hand over his heart. You're impressed yet again. Either the guy doesn't comprehend Bro's fury, or he's truly the bravest, most adventurous idiot you've ever met.

You decide to keep your eyes on him.

"Give them my share," Bro huffs, turning on his heel and shoving his hands in his sweatpants pockets. "All of it."

Jake gives him a sad look as he marches out of the kitchen and out of sight. However, his smile slowly returns a moment later, albeit a bit forced this time.

"Who… Who wants seconds, then?"

Dave sighs.

"I don't want any more, man. I'll feel like a huge asshole if Bro doesn't have anything," Dave says, dragging a finger through his leftover syrup and lapping it up with his tongue. You just slowly get back to eating.

You have never seen Bro let out so much emotion before. Well… he _has_ been pretty anxious lately, like he always is right before school starts. It gives you a sick, painful feeling in your gut. He knows that Dave is a growing boy. He's growing out of his jeans at least once every two months nowadays. School starting means new jeans are required. New pencils, new erasers, new, new, _new_. To add insult to injury, your birthday happens to fall on the thirtieth of August, which usually means any birthday presents you may or may not get tend to be school supplies. You pretend to not give a shit, but deep down it's disappointing. Deep down, it sometimes even makes you sad.

You understand the financial situation well enough but there isn't much that can stop the mind of a sixteen year old. You're trapped halfway between the awkward stage of childhood and the maturity of adulthood. It sucks being your age. It really does.

"He won't take them if he says he won't," you mumble. "Just leave him alone."

"That's because you don't know how to work the system, man," Dave argues. "You gotta ease him into it. Like butter on toast. All nice and smooth-like."

"He'll get pissed."

"Don't care. He's just as hungry as us. Christ, why are you always so damn selfish?"

You sigh but say no more as Dave takes the pancakes Jake offers him and strides right out of the kitchen.

Then you and Jake are alone.

"Would you like to help me tidy up a little, Dirk?" Jake asks after a long, painfully awkward silence.

"No need. Put it in the sink and I'll wash it all later," you mutter. Normally, you'd jump at the chance to clean. But now all you want is Jake out, out of your house, out of your life, far away from you. You didn't even know the guy and he saw something that was supposed to be a secret. Your eyes? Well, yeah, that was shitty, but more importantly, he saw the Strider weakness. Your starving body, your poverty, your obsession with creating things. Worst of all, it's your fault that Jake is here today. All yours. And now Bro is a ticking time bomb, and you know what the results will be far too well.

Last time he had gotten close to being this angry was when Dave started mooching off of friends for lunch at school and lying about how much money he had left in his lunch account. In response, Bro worked more and more vigorously until, on one particularly hot day, he literally collapsed on the sidewalk on the way home. He almost got arrested that day.

Bro doesn't like feeling pitied or coddled. He doesn't like help, or financial aid, or food stamps, or anything. You used to think it was a pride thing. Now you're certain that it's because he doesn't want your parents (wherever the hell they may be) to know that they'd triumphed. Bro knows that he absolutely can _not_ fail you and Dave, because it'd mean that the scumbags who left the three of you to die would win.

You feel a hand on your shoulder and you almost violently flinch away from it, as if you've been burned. Looking up, you see the kindly emerald eyes behind his glasses.

"Thanks for the pancakes," you say quite suddenly, your voice a lot louder than you had intended it to be. You shrug away from his touch and head out of the kitchen. You go through the living room and down the hall to your spare room.

Problem is, he _follows_ you.

"As much as I appreciate your interest towards my projects, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to kindly _step off_ , man."

You whirl around as you say the last words and he nearly crushes you between his hulking body and the door to the spare.

"You were working on something yesterday. Think I could take a quick peek, mate? Just a teeny tiny smidgen of a peek, good sir," Jake pleads, holding his fingers up to show you just how short of a God damn time he wants to take. You set your jaw.

"No, I don't think you'd be very interested in the toys I play with," you grumble lowly. "Why not check out Dave's room? He's got a sicknasty turntable and a synthesizer in there, you know."

"But whatever you were working on looked magnificent. I won't be more than a minute!" Jake begs. You don't feel like bothering with this flaming toolbag, so you finally just give the guy a strictly impassive shrug. You turn around to open the door.

"Okay. Just for a minute. Please try to avoid tou-"

Jake doesn't hear your stupid mumbling and bursts into the room. He bounds towards the work bench like a big clumsy dog, accidentally kicking a pile of bolts all over the room. Immediately, he picks up a drill bit.

"What's this queer little contraption?" he asks, turning around too quickly and sending more parts and pieces all over the carpet. Glaring from behind your shades, you step gracefully into the room and silently close the door behind you.

"That's a drill bit," you answer shortly, your voice cooling to just above freezing level. You stoop down to pick up a drill from the floor and walk over to Jake. Plucking the drill bit from his burly fingers, you attach it to the drill with your own slender, trained fingers. "See?"

You pull the trigger and the tool buzzes in your hands as the drill bit spins. Jake watches in awe. You give him a weird (raising a single eyebrow) look.

"Haven't you ever seen a drill?" you ask.

"Pictures and television shows. My grandma and I used to do a lot of traveling around the world, so I didn't have much time to pull up a chair and learn about all this machinery. That's why this room is so dazzling to me!"

"Dazzling," you echo cynically. "Alright, then. If you've had your fill of my sexy tools, I'd like to work in peace, please."

"Oh, but… um…" Jake trails off. His eyes flick down to your work table. He snatches up a ratchet. "This instrument. What is it called? Chimp wrench?"

You sigh and take the ratchet from Jake's hand.

"No, dude. That's a ratchet."

Irate now, you take a seat on your work stool and start gathering the tools you'll need for building your robot hand.

"I want to see you build something grand," Jake gushes, pulling up a few nearby milk crates and perching on them. You click your tongue, thoroughly frustrated.

"Build something," you repeat. Jake nods excitedly.

"Like Iron Man. The bloke is part robot, part man, ya'know? So what does he do? He builds a whole battle suit for himself! It's really amazing. You craftsmen have always given me quite the air of pure genius, if I dare say so myself."

You proceed to ignore the shit out of Jake. He talks too much. His Australian accent and dialect teeters on the edge of some weird British-Australian hybrid and it makes you suspect his true heritage.

"Safety glasses?" he asks as soon as you pick up your robot's hand and begin fiddling with some loose screws. You sigh.

"Already wearing glasses, bro."

"Oh," Jake says. He sounds genuinely dejected and you can't help but to wonder if he just wants to see your eyes again. When you look over at him, he's got big puppy dog eyes as he gazes down at a tiny wrench he had picked up.

It pisses you off. He isn't the first one to be completely and utterly engrossed by your weird Satan eyes. Why do people have to be so fucking nosy?

"Well, if it answers your deepest, darkest questions," you begin, your voice quiet and controlled to the point of being terribly frightening. "Yes, my eyes are orange. No contacts. Pure, _real_ yellow and red mixer party all up in my irises. Now, if that's all you came for, then leave."

"Your voice is nice."

That throws you completely off, and you _almost_ fumble your screwdriver. You look over at him, instantly calculating and studying, frowning with the effort of it. The goofy look on your intruder's face is impossible to decode, and for a horrible second it makes your stomach twist up in knots. Jake smiles a little bit, front teeth resting on his bottom lip. You really can't get over that.

"And if I recall correctly," Jake continues, the smile growing wider. "Your eyes are quite the pleasant shade of the dried sap of a great oak."

Your lips part and your eyebrows come together over the rim of your shades in complete and utter confusion.

"I'm pretty sure the coffee shop is two blocks down, they'll sure love a poet like you," you joke in a flailing, clumsy attempt to get Jake's gaze off of you and somewhere else.

"Amber eyes," Jake says suddenly, as if he had just remembered the words. He brings up his hands and points finger guns at you. He winks, and it's a huge and cheesy and really embarrassingly lame wink. "There's nothing extraordinarily strange about them, Strider. Just unique. And uniqueness and a liking for nice colors is something that runs in English blood, lemme tell you."

You turn back to your robot hand, expressionless. However, you're so surprised by what just went down that you really _do_ fumble your screwdriver. It's hardly noticeable, but it's just enough for you to miss the screw head.

"You can't see very well, can you?" he asks. He's calm and his voice is solemn, and for a moment you wonder if his obliviousness is a big joke or if it just comes and goes. When you look over, he's holding your safety glasses between his thumb and forefinger. His voice gets soft, almost losing the accent. "The ol' granny English always told me that nobody's too cool for safety. Not even a Strider."

You hurriedly grab the safety glasses out of his hand before he can stare into your shaded eyes any longer. Turning away in your stool, you slip the shades off and set them aside. The safety glasses replace them on your face. Feeling extremely vulnerable, you turn back to your work and downcast your eyes.

"Ah," Jake sighs dreamily. You stiffen.

"What?" you ask under your breath.

"I was right. You _do_ have freckles!"

Blinking, you look up. Being so accustomed to your shades, you forget they're not on for a moment and look directly at Jake. He smiles that too-toothy smile, high cheekbones lifting and his eyes crinkling.

"Your sunglasses cover them when they're on because they're so confoundedly large. I thought I saw them last night, and I wanted to see again to find out if it was true. My granny had freckles just like that, bless her soul," Jake explains, an expression of longing and nostalgia on his face. You're almost tempted to ask him about his grandma, but he continues. "Wish she was still around. She was one of the greatest ladies I knew."

You don't know what to say, so you keep your mouth shut and avert your gaze. You absently touch a small gear on your desk and roll it between your fingers.

"You should talk more often. You're far too quiet, especially for a Strider! Dane and Dave can't seem to shut their _bloody_ traps for one damn second but you… you can't seem to open yours."

"There is no logical reason for me to produce sound if no one is willing to hear it. A wrench falls in an empty cement warehouse and nobody is around. Does it still make noise?" you ask, your voice dripping with Strider-patented irony. Real irony, too, which makes the whole statement unironic yet ironic at the same time, and there really should be a limit to how much irony you can cram into one fucking paragraph.

"Leave logic and practicality to the scientists. Talking shouldn't be logical," Jake laughs, smacking you on the shoulder and knocking you out of your thoughts. "Just do what I do. No thinking, just chatter!"

"…You're basically informing me of your inability to think before you speak."

"Oh wait, blast it, I meant-" Jake begins loudly, fumbling for his dignity.

Something inside of you hitches. You squeeze your eyes shut and lean your elbows on your work table, trying to fight off the laughter that bubbles out of your chest. Instead, you just snort and wheeze into your hand.

"Even your laugh is quiet," Jake observes, chuckling a little himself. It occurs to you that he was just trying to get you to laugh, and you feel like an idiot for easily falling into that trap. Stifling your breathy laughter, you clear your throat and hunch over to work on your project. Jake just smiles at you and it's a little creepy because you can see it out of the corner of your eye. You just let him keep looking, though, because you know he's pretty much harmless. He speaks up after a few moments of silence. "Dirk, say something more."

"Like what?"

"I don't know, something!"

"How about 'make yourself useful and hand me my drill'?" you ask, not expecting him to follow through with it. But of course he _does_ follow through with it. Suddenly, he's got your drill in his hands and is offering it to you. Raising your eyebrows thoughtfully with the new discovery, you take it from him and use it to tighten some screws here and there on your robot hand.

He's watching you work so closely that you're almost uncomfortable. However, the unfamiliar feeling of attention is, admittedly, quite pleasant. You feel confident in knowing that you're the one in charge here, the one who knows more than a grown man on a certain topic. You can dig this feeling, you think idly to yourself.

"It looks like you could use some more of these doohickeys here," Jake comments out of nowhere, yet again knocking you out of your thoughts. You look over to see him thumbing the top of one of your medium wrenches. It's pretty rusty from years of use. You just shrug.

"Found it in a junk yard. You'd be surprised at how much shit gets thrown away in those heaps of metal. It's where I found most of the stuff in here."

"Golly! Smart _and_ resourceful. So none of this stuff is new?" Jake asks, leaning his elbow on your work table and propping his chin up on his hand.

"Anything that I haven't dug up in the junkyard is stuff that practically got handed to me at garage sales. That's where a lot of the toolboxes come from."

While you speak, Jake stands from his place on the milk crates and turns from you to rummage around in the spare room. You let him, because the look of wonder on his face actually makes you feel more comfortable. Usually, with your brothers, you have to worry about them knocking shit over just for the hell of it. Now, Jake is walking around with such cautious yet clumsy steps that it's almost cute.

Cute? No, fuck that noise. This guy is a complete hot mess of pure adorable and you just can't seem to get enough. More than once your eyes wander over to trace the outline of his shoulders, to admire the strength of his back and the way his hair falls in a tousled mess around his ears. And yes, your eyes do linger for just a moment on his ass. You don't feel guilty. It's a _really_ nice ass.

You don't know if you feel disdain towards the guy dragging Bro off to war and stirring up old issues with your family or if you enjoy his happy-go-lucky demeanor. At this point, it might be a little bit of both. He's refreshingly naïve, especially since you deal with over-alert ninja assholes all day long. It's obvious that you have the upper hand in the mechanics department. Hell, in exchange for telling him the names of a few simple tools he went and got you your drill.

"How old are you?" you ask out of the blue. Jake only looks over his shoulder and smiles at you.

"Twenty-three ripe years, mate! Don't make fun of me for being a geezer."

You smirk and shrug your shoulders, looking back down at your robot hand.

"You're hardly a geezer."

There. You said it. Totally obvious flirting right there. Subtle, yet straightforward. That's the Strider way. However, inside your chest, your heart beats a little faster. You don't know this guy well enough to know how he'll take it. Then again, he's an oblivious goofball who, your brother quoteth, doesn't know his ass from his elbow. Or perhaps it could be that he's actually pretty damn smart and can pick up hints fairly we-

"Golly Strider, thanks!" Jake says. While you had been busy calculating the chances of getting shoved over and avoided for the rest of your life for being a closet pretty-boy freakshow on the caravan headed straight for gay town, you didn't notice that Jake had made his way over to you. He gives you a light, friendly push on the shoulder. "You're a real nice guy, Dirk. A lot nicer than Dane, that's for sure!"

As he laughs, he ruffles your hair. The contact makes your skin crawl and your hair raise, but not in a bad way. A massive shiver takes over your entire body for a moment, followed by an unbearable heat that twists your insides into a sicknasty mess of tangled organs. You swallow in vain against the cotton that seems to have taken root in your mouth.

"Now, I gotta run, Strider. I've got a hot date with the park. Gotta jog some of those pancakes off, am I right?"

He guffaws again. Jesus Christ this guy's life is just a barrel of monkeys.

"Hey. If you ever find yourself in a… predicament," he begins. His hand squeezes your shoulder ever so gently. "Give me a ring, and I can come pick you and Dave up whenever you'd like. You don't have to tell Dane. I know he told me not to, but it just breaks my ol' heart to see you two so hungry, especially at your age. A growing boy needs his nourishment!"

Jake's hand leaves your shoulder as he sidesteps your stool and grabs a pen from a nearby cup of writing utensils. He picks up a small memo book, flips it open, and writes something down.

"Here're my digits. Don't ever think you can't call or text me; I always have my cell on me," Jake says, handing you the paper. You take it and stare expressionlessly at the numbers written there. His handwriting is sharp and pointed. Just _seeing_ it there giving you such personal information so easily makes butterflies flip their collective shits in your tiny stomach.

"Okay, Dirk?" he asks, sounding a bit concerned for a minute. You shake your head once.

"Okay. Yes. Thank you," you say, your voice tiny and quiet and your words short. Jake mistakes it as indignation and chuckles somewhat nervously.

"I'll be back sometime again this week. I'll be sure to come visit you while I spend time with your brother. I'd like us all to be great pals. Um… yes. I do believe I should leave now, ahaha… okay. Farewell, Strider!"

With that, Jake scoots out of the room and softly shuts the door behind him. You hadn't been able to find the voice within you to give him a proper goodbye. You just continue to look down at the number on the paper.

He's twenty-three, six or seven years older than you. He's nothing but a big goober, he's your brother's friend, and he's going off to war soon.

Yet your young heart has never pounded so hard in your chest before.

You fold your arms on your work table and drop your head into them, not caring if your safety glasses press painfully into your face. In your fist, you crumple up the paper and squeeze. A low groan is released from your lips.

"Fff _fuck_."


	3. Chapter 3

It wasn't a lie when Jake said that he'd be visiting a lot throughout the next few weeks. He's over all the time now, and it doesn't make your heart stop as much now when he bursts into the spare room like he owns the place. He's learning about the wide variety of tools in your possession little by little. Although he forgets the names half the time, and still manages to kick over a pile of washers nearly every day, his company is still welcome. Progress on your robot hand has slowed down just a tad because oftentimes you have to stop to explain something to Jake. Today's explanation: why you talk to yourself.

Now that you're comfortable with having a big teddy bear lumbering around in your room for hours at a time, you've dipped back into your habit of talking to yourself. At first, Jake thought you were talking to him, but when it was made apparent that you weren't, he only listened in stunned silence. He didn't say a word until at least an hour into it.

It's hard to explain, really, since you can't explain it yourself. It's a habit of yours that breaks the silence while you descend into your own world of building and creation. It's nothing harmful, just you mumbling quietly to yourself as if someone is truly there.

To your pleasant surprise, Jake doesn't dwell on the matter in either a positive or negative manner. He simply ruffles your hair and tells you that if it makes you happy, he's fine with it. He also tells you to make sure to remember to talk to him sometimes, because he tends to get lonely without talking to anyone for long periods of time.

So for those weeks, you sit on your stool consumed with your crush (and with some lust, perhaps). Your ears have turned hyper-sensitive to all of the noises he makes. His breathing, his laugh, his accent, and his occasional burping have all become things that make him _Jake_ , and you like it all. You wear your safety glasses freely now with him around, and he doesn't obsess over your eyes like so many others have. He has become a friend, and you can no longer deny that the feelings you have towards him is as unironic as it gets.

However, it disturbs you deeply. It disturbs you how it was basically anime-esque love at first sight with him. It chills you that a relationship with him would be pushing the buttons of the law: you _are_ a minor after all, and he is anything but. It rustles you that he's going to be leaving for war and he's going to take Bro with him. He's still someone you should despise, but all you want to do is become the victim of those killer eyes.

You're kind of disgusted with yourself. You're acting like a typical thirteen year old with the hots for their middle school teacher. Well… you guess you're kind of acting like a typical sixteen year old who's just looking for love, but you won't admit that. Jake's a grown man, so you should act like one, too.

It doesn't stop you from flirting with him in a way that'd make even Dave cringe in horror.

On the eve of your seventeenth birthday (it's actually your birthday already since it's one in the morning, but Striders don't typically deal with the technicality of days of the month), you're lying in bed with the covers tangled around your feet. It's too hot in your room, way too stuffy. You can hear Bro still watching T.V. in the living room. Dave's still dicking around with his hand-me-down turntables that he got from Bro a few years back when money wasn't such a huge issue as it is now. Everyone's awake and busy with their own business.

Especially you. Your hand is in your sweatpants, not doing anything past the occasional squeeze or stroke or scratch. You're currently having some inner turmoil over what you should do. It's loud enough in the apartment (by loud, you of course mean that it's at a respectable low volume for the middle of the night) that your brothers wouldn't be able to hear you should you make noise. While you _do_ want to have a quick arm wrestling competition with your purple-headed yogurt flinger, you're not sure if you're comfortable with the fantasies that could drift into your thoughts.

Example being Jake. In fact, you've been avoiding doing something like this since you met the guy. You're at your youthful sexual limit. You're sweating profusely, soaking the thin sheets under you. Irritably, you kick the blankets completely off your feet and nuzzle your pillow to wipe off the perspiration gathered at your brow.

_A Strider is cooler than this._

The thought strikes you so suddenly that you freeze and stop what you're doing. Feeling mildly ashamed for allowing yourself to dip into such a low state of conflict, you pull your hand out of your sweatpants, sit up, and promptly slap your face. This does little to help the half-boner you're sporting in your pants, but it does wipe some of the genuine distress off your face. You lie back down a moment later and think about what just happened. More than a little embarrassed, you squeeze your eyes shut and decide to keep them that way until the sun rises.

You're just beginning to drift when the door opens.

"Dirk?"

"…What?" you croak, trying to make it sound like you had just woken up.

"Nothin'," Bro says. You don't see him, but you know he knows what you were up to based on the inflection of his voice. You tense up a little. "I just thought I heard something in here and I thought I'd check to see if you were okay."

You shut your eyes and roll them behind the lids.

"I'm fine."

"Alright."

You lie in silence for a few seconds, waiting for Bro to say something more.

"Happy birthday, kid."

Your eyes snap open as you sit upright in bed. The door's already closed. You sit there for a few seconds, your hand holding your loose bangs out of your face. Falling back on the pillow, you let out a long sigh and close your eyes once more.

* * *

You end up getting a new set of glitter gel pens and a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles folder from Dave and a pencil sharpener with a box of pencils from Bro. He also lets you know that once he gets some spending money, he'll take you to Goodwill for your school clothes for the year. Unfortunately for you, you're pretty damn tall and none of the jeans are long enough for you. Looks like it's back to the high-top boots with skinny jeans that were too short for you _two years ago_. There's a hole in the crotch where the denim has been worn through. You pretend not to care. You do.

You're sitting in your spare room again, perched on your stool and studying your gifts. You think you can take out the tiny springs in the pens Dave got you and use them for some micro-robotic work. As for the folder…

"I like _horses_ , you dipshit," you mumble to yourself. You pick up the folder and your blowtorch. At least you can enjoy some good old fashioned pyromania before your birthday is over.

You don't get the chance to do this because there is a knock at the door. Cursing, you set down your instruments of destruction and look over your shoulder.

"Leave me alone," you mutter, knowing they'll hear you.

"Strider? Are you in there? Hello?"

Your skin crawls (in the good way) as you leap from your stool. You all but throw yourself at the door and wrench it open.

Jake's standing there, an armful of wrapped boxes cradled against his chest. You stare, dumbfounded, and you don't even register Jake talking to you at first.

"…irk? Dirk? Oy, Strider! Care to give me a hand with all of this?"

You snap back to reality and shake your head, still staring as you take three quarters of the wrapped boxes from Jake. Flawlessly, you go back to your work table. While Jake isn't looking, you sweep all of the stupid bullshit off of the table. The gel pens and the folder hit the adjacent wall with a thud.

"What is all this?" you ask monotonously (incredulously) once all of the boxes are settled on your work table. Jake grins from ear to ear, putting his hands on his hips and observing his work proudly.

"Happy birthday, Dirk! I saw the calendar on the fridge in the kitchen and saw that it was coming up. So, I picked up a few things!" Jake explains enthusiastically. You shake your head.

"A… few th…" you begin in what would've been a stutter if you were able to form coherent sentences. Your lips open and close a couple of times. You're so shocked that you don't even care about what kind of totally uncool face you're making right now. "What…?"

"No need for thanks, Strider! Dig in!"

"Too much," you blurt, your voice rising to a volume that you don't even use at school. You quiet down instantly. "This is way too much, Jake."

"Nonsense! You deserve it."

Your eyebrows furrow over your shades as you study the boxes on your table. You're so, so tempted to at least _shake_ one. Your brothers never even bother to wrap their gifts for you.

"I can't accept all this," you say quietly, shaking your head. "This is absolutely ridiculous, English, I-"

"Just one then. Choose one and I'll return all of the others. I promise."

You make a skeptical noise in the back of your throat but force yourself to sit down at your stool anyway. Jake visits so often nowadays that the milk crates that he always sits on are already beside your stool. He sits down with you. Grumbling to yourself, you reach for the closest gift.

"Not that one," Jake says quickly. You pinch your lips into a tight line as you move your hand to the next gift. "Not that one, either."

"Damn it!" you exclaim (growl softly) in frustration. You angrily thrust your shades up and off of your eyes and crush them onto the top of your head so you can see properly. "What gift do you want me to take, then?"

"Guess," Jake says in a sing-song voice. You stare at him with a glare that could take down a horse, but Jake just grins back at you with his pearly whites. Damn, you really can't get over how his front teeth jut out like that. You turn back to your pile of gifts and hover over several more of them with your hand. Jake shakes his head with each and every one until you finally get a tiny one about the size of a computer mouse. Skeptically picking it up, you turn it over in your hands and pick at an overly large piece of tape. After Jake nods his approval, you slowly and deliberately rip the wrapping paper off.

It's a pair of bright orange earbuds.

"O…kay?" you ask. "Thanks, Jake. You can return all of this stuff now. Thanks for the thought."

"You're a rude little bloke," Jake mock-scolds, flicking your shoulder. "Come on, open another."

"You promised you'd return all of this."

"I had my fingers crossed behind my back, mate. Plus, those earbuds are for something else. You'll have to figure it out yourself. You are now required to open at least one more. How about this one?"

Jake picks up another gift, which is a bit bigger than the first. You're reluctant, but eventually your never-ending curiosity gets the better of you. You find yourself reaching out for the gift and taking it. You roll it over in your hands. Shake it a little. Make a few logical guesses of what it could possibly be.

None of your guesses are close. A brand new boxed iPhone rolls into your hand. Never opened.

"Wh-" you begin, staring down at it like it's a fist-sized diamond in your hand. "Jake I ca-"

"It's strange for me to say this, but pipe down, Strider," Jake laughs, clapping you on the back. "If it's of any consolation, your brothers will be getting similar treatments on their birthdays."

You're halfway between disappointment and relief. Mostly disappointment. So this special treatment isn't for anything other than the fact that it's your birthday? Well, shit. You got your hopes up for nothing. And for what? The possibility that another man, an adult man at that, would have just a smidgen of an inkling of feelings for you? You're a Strider and you're all about irony, but there really isn't a chance for you in the world.

Your face settles into its expressionless mask.

"I really don't know what to say," you say softly.

"I don't want to hear anything coming out of you except the sound of ripping paper right now, Strider."

You wind up getting the earbuds, the phone, an iPod dock (Jake says that it works with the iPhone, too), a fucking laptop (you have to fight back the urge to throw it as his stupid head), an array of school supplies that will last you the whole school year, and a box of clothes. Literally, a box of clothes. You receive five of everything: five pairs of socks, five pairs of boxers (you prefer briefs, but at this point in your poverty, you would wear a leaf over your junk if it was offered to you), five pairs of jeans (two skinny, three regular), and five shirts (two t-shirts, a sweater, a button-up, and a polo).

One of the t-shirts has a bright orange hat on it. It's at the top of the pile, and it's the first thing that catches your eye. Feeling legitimately exhausted, you roll your head over to Jake and stare deep into his emerald eyes. You're moving forward, eyelids pulled down halfway over your eyes, your lips parting.

"I hate your guts," you whisper, pointing a limp finger at the stupid green skull on the center of Jake's chest. He laughs at you as you pull back and slump in your chair. Resting your elbows on your knees, you steeple your fingers and prop your chin up on your thumbs. "Man. Bro's going to murder me in the most extravagantly brutal way possible."

"Why would he murder you?"

"Because of all of this shit. This is really cool and all, and I really appreciate it, but… this is really, really too much. Not even rich kids get all this shit on their birthdays."

"Dirk."

You look up, struggling to keep the emotion off your face. You're completely and utterly overwhelmed. Countless times in your life, you've given things to others. Things that you deemed useful. It is tradition in the Strider household for you to build at least one thing for Dave and Bro's birthdays. Sometimes fixing something counts, too. In your lifetime, you've assembled thousands of little contraptions to help everyday life. From locks on the doors to a backup generator when the electricity company shuts down your house's electric functions because of an unaffordable bill, you've got it under control. You've been called the MacGyver of your time. You can build something out of a fucking fried motherboard and a rusty spring, for fuck's sake.

But you have never.

 _Ever_.

Gotten something like this as just a birthday present.

"If I seem unappreciative I apologize," you mumble, looking down. You're unable to force your eyes to meet his for once. "I just…"

"Sometimes you think so much you fail to see the simple point, mate," Jake sighs, leaning his elbow on the work table and resting the side of his head on his fist. "Tell me, what sort of presents did you get for your sweet sixteen, hm? Did your brother throw a big jamboree? Did he pull in with a car with a big ol' fancy red bow wrapped around it?"

"No," you say miserably. You're beyond humiliated now. Jake smiles a bit sadly at you.

"Precisely, Strider. All of this is just… catching up. And the clothes? That's more of a need rather than a want, don't you think? Trust me, after seventeen years? This pile of gifts barely scratches the surface."

You're so emotional you're half tempted to excuse yourself to check if you're on your period. You can't even look up, so without a single word more, you grab your shades from the top of your head and slide them gracefully onto your face. Your hands shake as you do it. Either Jake doesn't notice, or he has the kindness in him to not mention it.

"Uh," you begin. You clear your throat. "Has Bro shown you the roof?"

"Roof?" Jake asks curiously. He tilts his head. "I don't believe so."

"Come on."

You spin in your stool and, without a moment's thought, you grab Jake's wrist. It's skin contact that makes a shiver rifle up your spine. English doesn't take it as anything more than you being eager to drag him somewhere. Sometimes you're relieved that he's so oblivious. Sometimes you're disappointed. Today, you're disappointed. The only thing you really want to do is hug the hell out of the guy, but that's not Strider etiquette and he probably wouldn't see the true meaning behind it, anyway.

But you barely consider yourself to be a Strider anymore, so why can't you do it?

It's almost dark out when you reach the roof. Jake gasps sharply.

"Golly, what a lovely sunset!" he cries as if he's experiencing a sunset for the first time. The second the elevator gate is open, he tears out and sprints across the rooftop. For a split second, you're nervous that he's going to run right off the edge. However, he stops himself at the last moment and is caught by the hip-high wall of brick that surrounds the open rooftop.

You stay back with your hands shoved in your pockets, watching his hair whip around his face in the short gusts of wind that comes up over the building. He sports a big grin as he watches the sun disappear behind another building.

"Wow!"

He's so enraptured by a simple sunset that you're jealous for a moment. There was a time in your life when the view from the rooftop was beautiful. Now it's just another tower in a sea of buildings, blocked out of nature and the rest of the world. You're free to go wherever you'd like, but the sick truth of it all is that Bro can't afford a house somewhere else, so you're stuck here forever.

"Is the view always this dazzling?" Jake calls from the other side of the roof. There's that word again. Your soft voice won't be able to reach him where you're standing, so you go to him instead.

"Is everything 'dazzling' to you?" you ask. Jake grins and puts a hand on your shoulder.

"Sometimes it's splendid, extraordinary, astounding, bloody awesome… Anything you'd like, really."

You actually smirk and snort once at that. You cross your arms and stare up at the orange and red clouds that are slowly fading to black in the sky.

"So you see this," you begin, gesturing wide with your arms at the buildings surrounding you. "…as dazzling? All of this is actually _exciting_ to you?"

Jake heaves a big sigh.

"Dirk, must everything be a big philosophical discussion with you?"

"Hell yes."

"You think too much for a seventeen year old."

"Should I just cease all intelligent thought for the rest of my life?"

"You're also way too much of a smartass for a seventeen year old. Back in my day, teens were respectable young men and women," Jake says proudly. You peer at him doubtfully through your shades. Jake then cracks a grin and shakes his head. "Just kidding. Every teenager in the history of mankind was a great big smartass on legs."

Your lips twitch a little with an almost-smile. Turning back to the brick guard, you lean up against it and yawn.

"Did you have a good birthday, then?" Jake asks after a while. You look up at him and give him a small nod.

"Yeah. I did. Thanks for everything, man," you say. For a fleeting moment, you wish you could show more gratitude for the gifts you have received. However, you can't muster much more than a slightly-above-flat tone. Luckily for you, Jake has just enough awareness left in him that he gets it. He reaches out and squeezes your shoulder.

"Uh…" he begins, looking up at the night time sky for a moment. He releases your shoulder to pull a bit at the collar of his shirt. "I just wanted to ask you one question if it doesn't bother you, mate."

"It's fine. Shoot," you say. Jake clears his throat and looks away from you and down at the traffic below for a while.

"I'm wondering if it's possible… that uh… well, you see," Jake stammers. Blinking behind your shades, you shift on your feet a little and lean in closer to hear him. He chuckles and rubs the back of his neck. "Look… I'm not… as much of a stupid bloke as I let out."

Your heart lodges in your throat.

"And I guess I just wanted to clarify and… ga-gadzooks this is awkward!"

"Yeah," you agree with a little choked-out laugh.

"Anyway," Jake continues, swallowing hard. He visibly adjusts as if he's going to make some huge announcement. "Dirk, I have but one simple question for you!"

You're torn between rolling your eyes and collapsing on the spot out of anxiety.

"Dirk," Jake inhales. His question comes out in a rushed lungful of air. "Are you angry at me because Dane is going to war?"

You stare at Jake for a few seconds, still struggling to process the question.

"…What?" you finally ask. Jake sighs.

"I just feel like you're really short or reluctant with me all the time. And I just wanted you to know that it's not to whisk him away off on some adventure or whatever you want to call it. I really didn't have a say in his choice, so if you are holding a grudge against me, I am truly, dreadfully sorry."

He's got it half right. Maybe. More like a fourth right. You're curt with your words because that's how you are, you're shy, you're just a quiet person. The question makes you think about just how different you are from your brothers and how misleading it must be for Jake. Flustered, you don't say anything.

"I would love to be friends, Strider. I want to get to know all three of you better," Jake says pleadingly. "I know it's probably astonishingly quick, but I-"

"I understand," you say. Your voice is nothing but a murmur. "It's fine. I know it's not your fault."

Jake gives you a sad half-smile, tilting his head a bit. He's opening his mouth to say something more when something beeps. You both look down at his shorts pocket. He fishes out a small pager and checks it.

"Hoo boy," Jake whistles. "I gotta go. I've got a date with a lovely lady tonight."

"Date, huh?" you ask nonchalantly, crossing your arms and leaning on the guard wall. Your fingers tighten on your biceps. Shit, he's got a girlfriend? _Abort abort abort. Critical mission failure. Eject. Motherfucking acrobatic pirouette right off the building right now. Do it now._

"Yeah. Old friend of mine, we go way back. We were just little tykes when we met! Granny English made quite a few friends when we made our trip to London, ya'know? She came to America for a prestigious culinary arts college and has been here ever since," Jake babbles. He looks excited to see this 'friend' of his. You worry the inside of your lips with your teeth.

"Cool," you say simply. Jake flashes his big cheesy wink at you again. You feel the words come out before you even think about it. "Is she your girlfriend?

"Oh, heavens no. No, she is just the finest lady of them all, who just so happens to be my one-of-a-kind best friend. I'll have to introduce her some time. She can bake a real mean pie!"

You relax ever so slightly.

"Anyway, I hope you had a spectacular seventeenth, Strider. Speaking of which, your cell phone plan is already taken care of, so no need to worry about that," Jake continues. "And the building has free wi-fi for your laptop, correct?"

You feel dizzy just _talking_ about the gifts you received, so it takes a moment for you to answer.

"Well… there's free wi-fi, sure. But let's just say that it's not supplied by the building," you explain. Your voice drops a little bit more. "Hacker pad. Two floors down. Three doors over. The signal's off the charts."

"Ohh," Jake says, nodding. "Alright. I gotcha, mate. Well anyway, I gotta jet, so…"

He trails off and knits his eyebrows. He seems to take a moment to gather his bearings for something. Instinctively, you lean in a bit.

"If you ever need anything, send me a ring. Please. I can't beg you enough, Strider."

"…You make it seem like the whole apartment building is going to spontaneously combust in response to your absence," you say out of the corner of your mouth in a dry voice. "Seriously, what's on your mind?"

"It didn't take an extraordinarily long time for me to figure out your living conditions, chap. I should've called Child Protection Services the moment I walked in."

You completely blank out for a moment, your lips parting.

" _What?_ " you hiss. Jake frowns.

"I can't do it because I know Dane really, truly cares about you and Dave and I don't think I could bear being the executioner here," Jake explains. He puts both hands on your shoulders and stares deeply into your shades. "Dirk. It's a _real_ situation, and you wouldn't believe how worried I have been for the past few days."

You still can't form a coherent sentence.

"Okay, Dirk?" Jake begs, eyes crinkling with concern. You swallow and nod.

"Yeah. Got it."

Jake lets out a huge sigh.

"Thanks, mate. I truly appreciate you for being so understanding."

He ruffles your hair.

"Well, I'll just be off then. Happy birthday once again, Dirk," Jake says. As he backs away, he bows dramatically to you. "I bid you adieu, Strider!"

He goes to the elevator, struggles with the gates for a bit, and then waves to you as he is lowered into the elevator shaft. When he's gone, you hop up on the guard wall and sit there for a moment, thinking.

"You don't have to bother sneaking away," you mutter. "I know you're here."

Bro materializes out of the darkness, his hands in his pockets. You watch him as he approaches, silently studying him. He just looks tired, nothing else.

"Quite a birthday, eh kid?" Bro asks, turning around so he can lean up against the wall. He doesn't make a move to sit on it.

"Yup. Did you see Jake's gif-"

"Aaaayup."

"…You mad?"

Bro purses his lips for a moment, thinking. After a moment's pause, he shakes his head.

"Nah. Jake's right, you deserve a bit more than just a box of pencils. Actually I… I uh, talked to Jake beforehand. I told him it was okay to load you with a bunch of shit. I just didn't expect _that_ much shit. And it's… well, ya'know damn well that I'd get you turntables like Dave's if I could. It's just… the timin', you fuckin' know I was plannin' on gettin' you somethin' brand new and shiny," Bro rambles. You listen quietly. The more upset he's feeling, regardless of whether or not he's got emotion on his face, the more he speaks with his drawled southern accent.

"I understand the situation," you mumble. "And Dave's an impatient little assclown. It was only right to get him the big boy toys first."

Bro snorts.

"I hear ya, man. I hear ya."

You bring your leg up onto the wall so you can prop it up on the edge of the top. Bro eyes you and shifts ever so slightly.

"You being careful up there?" Bro asks, lifting his hand to flex his fingers and check out his worn leather glove.

"I'm fine," you reply just as casually. Bro nods once. You both just sit there for a while, listening to the city sounds beneath you and thinking.

"Dirk."

His voice is even, but you've lived long enough with him to know that you shouldn't assume what his mood is based on his tone. You turn to him ever so slightly. He doesn't budge.

"I lost my job."

You were already suspecting this, but your heart sinks anyway. You look down and pick at a loose bit of rubber on your cheap sneaker.

"Again? What happened this time?" you ask quietly. Bro takes off his cap and cards his fingers through his hair. He shakes his head.

"Bad luck I guess. Got laid off. Turns out even a shitty-ass mall cop job prefers a smartass college shithead over a high school dropout," Bro rants. His face doesn't change, but his voice gets angrier and angrier as he continues. He thinks about it for a moment before he viciously lashes out. His gloved fist hits the top of the guard wall. There's enough leather there to protect his knuckles, but that doesn't stop the sound of bones crackling in protest.

"Dane," you deadpan under your breath, not looking up from your shoe. Bro pinches his lips together and lets his arm hang loosely at his side.

"I'm trying," he snarls.

"I know."

"I am serious as a fucking heart attack."

"Shut up. I know."

Silence.

"Dane, apply for food stamps tomorrow," you say. Bro is quiet.

"Stop usin' my fuckin' first name," he growls after awhile. "Jesus Christ."

"Please. English said he was going to call the cops," you say. "It's just food stamps, Dane."

You see it coming before it even happens. Barely missing the fist aimed at your shoulder, you hop off the guard wall. You turn to face Bro, your hands closed into fists. Bro stands a few feet away, already locked in a fighting stance. His body is tense and stands strong before you, making you look weak.

"Food stamps, huh? Then let's fuckin' strife for it, kid. No weapons. If it means so fuckin' much to you, then see if you can take me down."

You grit your teeth and hunch up your shoulders. Birthday: ruined. You're about to get your ass handed to you in a battle that you can't win or back out of.

" _Come on!_ " Bro bellows at you.

 _Shit, he's really pissed_ , you think as you run at him. At first, your plan is to play dead and hopefully get out of it with only a bruise or two.

That changes when you imagine a world where it's just you and Dave, or maybe even just you. A world where you and Dave are being eased into a car you've never seen before, about to be carted off to some creepy ass foster mansion where all of your childhood nightmares will come true. Briefly, you envision Bro being pushed into a _much_ different vehicle.

In handcuffs.

Your new purpose for fighting makes your adrenaline flare and, for a split second, Bro's facial expression flickers. Your deduction skills tell you it's a weakness, but despite all that, Bro is ready for you when you strike. He bats you away like a toy, sending you sprawling onto the rooftop. The gravel lacerates your upper arm as you land hard and slide a little on the rough surface.

You get up just in time for Bro to shove you back down on your ass.

"Stop messing around and show me some God damn strife," he jeers. You flex on the ground and hop easily to your feet, but Bro's hand pushes your shoulder back once more. Ready this time, you just teeter a little before jumping back and planting your feet firmly on the ground. Bro doesn't switch into the offensive; he just stands there with his arms at his sides. "Come at me. Come on."

The frustration inside of you begins to bleed through the impassive screen over your face, making your brows furrow and your lips curl back.

You run at him again with your fist reared back. Your swing moves so fast that your arm is a blur, but Bro catches you by the wrist, twists you painfully around, then shoves you to the gravel again.

"Christ," Bro sighs as you lift yourself to your hands and knees. You feel a shoe on your ass a split second before it pins you to the rooftop. It's still warm from the day's sunshine. "Why do I even bother to teach you self defense? Use what I taught you, for fuck's sake."

You spin around under his shoe and grab his ankle. With a grunt, you throw him off of you. The maneuver is supposed to make him stumble and fall, but he only uses the momentum to plant his foot, spin around, and kick you down. He takes the time to put his hands back in his pockets as you scramble to stand back up.

"Throw in the towel. If this was strife with weapons, you would've lost. No fuckin' food stamps," Bro spits. He turns away from you and heads towards the elevator.

You're furious at this point, partly because you've lost yet again and partly because your brother's such a stubborn asshole. You're so angry, in fact, that you tear across the rooftop like a wild animal, flying at Bro with all of the strength you can muster. Your shades come off and are hurled to the ground like poison. In the darkness of the night, your pupils are wide and full of fury.

You barrel into him, but he knows you're coming even before you get there. He turns around in your fall to the ground, easily rolling onto his back and flipping you off of him. You hit the roof hard, spraying up little rocks and pebbles as your body skids. Jumping to your feet, you sprint at Bro just as he gets to his feet.

There's a desperate brawl between the two of you. You're throwing punches and shoving so hard that you can't see straight. Bro doesn't fight back, just continually brushes you away like you're nothing. He flashsteps behind you. Shoves you. You turn around. He's gone.

He's at your side.

Shove.

He's behind you.

Shove.

He's in front of you again but you expect him to be behind you, so you stupidly turn on the spot.

You taste gravel a third time. By now you're panting and shaking as you struggle to haul yourself to your feet. You spit and wipe your mouth as you take a second to collect yourself.

"Are you done being a pest now? Just stop. You don't have a chance."

You're already dizzy and disoriented, but you whirl around anyway. This time, your teeth are bared and your eyes are wild as you bring both fists up into the air.

You bring them down with the intent of serving Bro the death blow. He, however catches both of your wrists in a vice grip. You let out an infuriated, desperate cry as you jerk your arms as hard as you can in a vain attempt to wrench yourself away. It's nothing more than a strained whimper, but in a Strider sense it's about the equivalent of an agonized wail. Bro's foot finds its way between your own and hooks on your ankle. You go down like a sack of rocks. Bro follows closely behind, even gets his forearm between the back of your head and the rooftop to stop your skull from getting cracked open.

Already, you're struggling to get yourself out of Bro's grasp and to your feet again.

"Stay down. I'll get food stamps," Bro says, showing no signs of sweating whatsoever. You, on the other hand, are panting so hard that you're practically hyperventilating. When you hear him finally agree with you, you exhale all of the air in your lungs and relax under him. Closing your eyes, you let go of Bro's shirt and let your hands drop to the ground. Your fists open and blood beads out of angry crescent-shaped pinpricks where your nails dug into flesh.

Your eyes open again when Bro lowers his forehead to your shoulder. His cap falls uselessly into the gravel.

"I'll apply on my way back from the employment office," Bro promises. You know he won't break it. "But if you think for a fuckin' second that I'm giving up, I'll snap you in half."

"You aren't giving up. Even if you were, I don't fucking care, Bro. Jesus," you groan. "It's just that my stomach is going to make a feast out of itself if I don't feed it. Seriously, I think there's a cannibal inside of me."

Bro's forearm flexes under your head. It's almost like a hug.

"Alright, alright. I'll get the fuckin' food stamps. I get it."

Finally, Bro shifts and gets up off of you. He helps you stand up, even steadies you when you waver.

"Jake uh… left a birthday cake," Bro sighs. "I told the fucker not to, but he did anyway."

"I have a _slight_ inkling that Dave's already got his hands all up on that cake."

"I'll knock his lights out if he did."

"You find a reason to beat the shit out of anyone," you comment with a smirk as you watch Bro walk away to retrieve your shades for you. "Anyway, did Jake mention the cake brand? Is it the cheap stuff or the good shit?"

"Betty Crocker."

"Hell fucking yes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to chapter betareaders: lofac, cherryburlesque, and joyusscarecrow!
> 
> ...and a VERY special thanks to the chapter 3 plot pacing supervisor, dannyazazel.


	4. Chapter 4

You're going to die.

…Which is kind of sad, since it's only your second week of your junior year of high school. You thought you'd miss your friends. Well, you did, but you only missed them enough to want to be around them for _one day_. However, one friend in particular has been on your mind since the end of sophomore year.

"Oh _man!_ "

You jump out of your skin (blink) as a lunch tray is slammed down on the table right next to you. Roxy collapses into her chair and groans, tipping so far back that you're tensing up to catch her if she falls. Unsurprisingly though, she doesn't fall, and instead tips forward again to sweep a lock of platinum blonde hair out of her face.

"My computer class… is going to _muuuuuur_ der me," Roxy drawls in a very slightly slurred voice. You wonder if she has had something to drink before school. Your school's glaringly obvious lack of attention and care towards its students will never fail to surprise the shit out of you.

"Why'd you take it, then? You've already got elite hacking skills. You could probably rig every computer in there to explode if you wanted to," you say, eyeing Roxy's lunch tray. Without missing a beat, Roxy slides her tray over and randomly belches.

"'Scuse me," she giggles. Then, she smacks her fancy manicured hands on the table. "But seriously! I thought the guy would at least show me a bit of wicked awesome coding but _noooo_ , it's _illegal_. Illegal my ass. They're just trying to suffocate the hacker within. The hacker _within_ , Dirk."

You just smile a tiny bit as you wolf down the calzone Roxy bought.

"Hey, Dirky, gimme a bite of that, will ya?" Roxy asks in her sweetest, most forced drunk voice. She leans on you and grins up at you. Rolling your eyes, you offer her the calzone and she takes a bite out of it while you hold it for her.

"Ugh. You got your nasty lip gloss on it," you grumble, bringing the calzone up for a sniff. "Is that watermelon I smell?"

"Watermelon _Blast_ ," Roxy corrects. She props her elbows up on the table and flutters her eyelashes at you. "Ain't I _purrrrrty_?"

"I am utterly weak at the knees in the presence of your radiant beauty," you say flatly. Roxy laughs and smacks your shoulder.

"Oh Dirk, you know just how to flatter a girl. I'd kill for a guy like you for a boyfriend. Sigh. It's such a cryin' shame that you've got the hots for the boys."

You choke on your bite of calzone, but you are able to recover quickly before you make a scene. Swallowing the painful lump of food lodged in your throat, you turn to Roxy.

"I told you, Roxy, I don't know if I'm… you know… or not," you lie. Oh, you know all right. "…And as much as I appreciate your enthusiasm on the matter, I'd like it if you'd keep it down just a bit."

"This dodgy shit again, huh? When do'ya think you'll come out?" Roxy asks, much to your annoyance.

"I'm serious, Lalonde."

"Alright, alright. Jeeeez. No need to turn into sassy bitchy Dirk on me," Roxy says, pouting. You sigh.

"So. Roxy. I was thinking."

"Yeah?"

"I was thinking that it's been a really long fucking time since we've hung out," you begin nonchalantly. "So I was thinking, if it's okay with your mo-"

"Oh, don't even start, Mr. Strider," Roxy guffaws with an extravagantly dramatic flip of her wrist. "My mom _adores_ you. Even little Miss Gothic Princess can't get enough of your hot bod."

You grimace.

"I'm pretty sure Rose tried to hex me last time I was there."

"That's her way of telling you that she loves you," Roxy snarks, patting you on the shoulder with mock-sympathy. "I'm thinkin' she likes your whole 'I don't give a flyin' rat's ass' shtick."

You're about to say something more when there's a beeping sound. Roxy proceeds to casually pull her phone out of her bra. You know you don't have to turn away if you don't want to, but you do it anyway for courtesy's sake. Then again, it doesn't make much of a difference when your best friend is pulling her phone right out of her fucking melon hammock in the middle of the cafeteria.

Roxy laughs really hard at something with some sort of snorting hyena sound, then texts a response.

"Oh wow. Ell-oh-ell at that," Roxy sighs, shaking her head a little. She slides her phone shut and puts it down. "Anyway, I'm always down for some good quality time spent with my BFF. How about Friday? I'll come pick you up."

"Sounds great. Also… not your Boy Friend Forever," you remind her gently. Roxy purses her lips and snaps her fingers.

"Gosh durnit, I almost snagged ya!" she jokes. Then, her face becomes solemn and she leans in. "But the real question here is… Xbox or PS2?"

You draw in a little breath.

"I'm thinkin' the Xbox, Ro-lal."

Roxy gasps loudly, even slapping her hand over her chest and rounding her pretty pink lips into a perfect 'O'.

"Halo, Dirk? Why, we only save that game for… dun dun dunnn… _real_ _talks!_ "

You nod gravely.

"Yes, Doctor Lalonde. I'm afraid we must venture into the dark chasm of my elusive… _feelings_ ," you hiss-whisper, playing along with Roxy's just-a-tad-drunken antics.

"Ooooh, damn!" Roxy whistles. "Now I'm curious. What feelings will we discuss, Nurse Strider? _Please_ tell me it's about one of your smokin' hot bros again."

The bell rings, signaling the end of lunch period. You wrinkle your nose as you grab the empty lunch tray and stand up from your chair.

"Ugh. The fact that you, in any way, see my little shithead of a baby brother as anything but a massive hairy mole on the plush ass of life, is quite sickening. In fact, I might just puke over here in this trash can."

"No, Dirk! Tell me what you want to talk about!" Roxy whines.

"Later," you call over your shoulder. You hear Roxy let out a frustrated growl as you leave. Just as you throw the trash away and head towards the elevators for your next class, you hear Roxy gasp over the crowd.

" _Dirk Strider!_ You've gone and fallen for a tall glass of water, haven't you?"

Her voice is so loud that everyone turns and stares at you. Despite how much you want to run and hide because of the accuracy of her guess, you simply reach up and adjust your shades on your nose. Calmly, you slide into an elevator without a flaw in your mask.

* * *

On the bus ride home (which is mildly embarrassing since you're the oldest one on the damned thing), you plug into your iPhone and quietly enjoy some music. You haven't gotten around to setting up iTunes or anything like that, so you settle for tuning into Pandora Radio. You enjoy techno music while you stare blankly out the window and just think about things.

You think about Roxy, your silly best friend who has been there for you more often than not since seventh grade. She used to be a wreck with smoking and drinking and the occasional drug abuse because of some family-related drama, but over the years she has grown into an awesome, smart young woman. She's practically a genius just like you. Still, she probably has no business with real life responsibilities like raising kids, but you have no room to judge her for that.

Point is, she's your best friend. Always has been. Always will. She knows you as well as your own brothers, and you consider her to be your long-lost sister of sorts. However, she is unlike your brothers. She is unlike them in the sense that she listens, she comprehends, and she understands. She makes it easy for your voice to be heard because she's willing to hear it.

Perhaps that's why you love her to pieces and would never, for even a second, imagine yourself hurting her. There was a time when she had a crush on you and in the end you _did_ have to hurt her, yes. However, that time is long gone. No longer does she hurl herself at you like a typical hormonal girl. Well. She still hurls herself at you, but you both know that there is a solid line between you two. She respects it, but still enjoys flirting with you in the most indiscreet of ways. And you flirt right back, because it's a damn friendship and friends are allowed to flirt, dammit.

You used to wonder if you were unintentionally leading her on. However, after a particularly wild night at her house, in which she got shitfaced (you weren't too sober yourself), she admitted to you that her crush on you was never too serious. Said that she preferred you as her best friend 'for lifesies'. She's brutally honest when she's drunk, so you took her word for it.

The bus stops at its usual place at the end of the block. You get off with a couple other kids, then stroll slowly down the street towards your apartment building. Not really feeling like going home just yet, you walk down an alley near your house and emerge out the other side. From there, you loop around a few more times until the middle school bus comes screeching to a halt at the bus stop. Hands in your pockets, you wait for Dave to get off. When he does, he goes right to you.

"Sup."

"Sup," you greet in your usual soft voice.

"You haven't been home yet?" Dave asks, arching one brow over his shades. You shrug.

"Nah. Didn't feel like it."

"Well, Bro went and got some more shit to eat," Dave says with an identical shrug. "I thought you'd run home like a guy on steroids to get your hands all up on my delicious poptarts."

"Poptarts," you repeat skeptically.

"Hot fudge sundae. Suck it."

You don't say anything as you turn away and begin walking back towards your apartment building. Dave runs up beside you, thumbs hooked on the straps of his backpack.

"What do you suppose that shit is made of, anyway? The filling of the poptart, I mean. And you know, it hardly tastes like a sundae. It tastes like any old shitty ass poptart that they make. Like, do you ever just think of that shit? Like, 'oh I'm going to fill this delicious pastry from the poptart gods with some nice filling', 'no, son, you're going to fill it with some of this white sperm-lookin' stuff', 'are you sure, boss?', 'yes. Rev up those machines, Steve, we're going to revolutionize the shit that has tasted the same for five hundred years', 'alright, whatever you say boss, but I think it tastes the same anyway'. So you know, I really don't understand why…" Dave rambles on and on and on. Behind your shades, you roll your eyes so hard they practically roll right out of your head. This kid. Whenever he's tired, especially from another stressful day in the eighth grade, he rambles.

He believes he's some flawless coolkid but he's actually a dweeb who doesn't know how to shut his mouth. You've told him this numerous times, but that only makes it worse.

You're relieved as hell when you finally get to the apartment. You and Dave silently ride up the elevator, holding your collective breath and praying that the fucking thing doesn't break down again. Once it broke down on the way up, leaving you and Dave stranded for hours. Of course it was hotter than hell outside, so you both roasted alive and nearly had to be taken to the hospital due to dehydration. Bro, however, had the situation well under control and was ready to dive into action if the authorities showed up.

Your worries are short lived because a second later the door dings and rattles open. The moment you're there, you see Jake standing in the hallway, leaning on the door. He looks up when the elevator dings and flashes his big toothy grin at you.

"Hey!" he calls. Dave jogs out of the elevator and down the hall. He lifts his knuckles and points them at Jake. Laughing, Jake receives his brofist and proceeds to do some weird secret handshake that you've never seen. Slightly perturbed by this, you make your way over and stand a little ways back.

"Sup, Jake," you say, nodding. Jake regards you with a warm smile.

"Hey, Strider!"

"Whatcha doing here so early, Gramps?" Dave drawls. "Hidin' some sweet treats from us?"

You let out a tiny groan, but Jake winks his cheesiest wink and holds up a finger.

"Now wait just a gosh darned second, Dave. Let me see if I have anything in my trousers…" he trails off. He rummages around in his pockets for a while, then gasps and brings out his hand. He offers Dave a handful of strawberry Jolly Ranchers.

"Oh hell yes," Dave hisses, grabbing the candy. "Thanks, man. We should have a rap-off sometime."

Jake laughs, then digs in his pocket again as he steps out of the way of the door for Dave to let himself into the apartment.

"Now, mate… I'm terribly sorry, but you never told me what candy you like the best, so… I just got you a bunch of different things. Is that okay?" Jake asks somewhat sheepishly as he pulls out a handful of candy out of his pocket. Hurriedly, he picks a piece of lint out of the pile and chokes out a nervous chuckle. "It should be okay, I swear I just got all this, so…"

"Thanks," you say quietly as you hold out your hands. Jake deposits the sick loot into your grasp. It consists of a tootsie roll (warm and soft from Jake's pocket), a wrapped up gumball, a sucker, and a green apple Jolly Rancher. You're flattered, really. You feel pretty much indifferent towards sweets since you never really grew up on sugar anyway (most of your sugar fills came from the rare orange soda that Bro brought home for you while you were growing up), but damn you're flattered.

"So I guess… you're wondering why I'm here, huh?" Jake asks as he goes to the door and pushes it open. He holds it open for you as you slide inside, then shuts it softly behind him.

"Yes, actually. What's up?" you ask, crossing your arms as you lean up against the kitchen table. Jake grins.

"Well… your brother is out job hunting, and said he wouldn't be back until later tonight. So he asked if I could swing on by and make sure you guys got home safely. Which… you are! So uh… yeah, Dane told me to just hang out with you guys or something… um…"

Jake pulls at his collar as he speaks. You tilt your head to the side ever so slightly. Behind you, Dave rummages around in the cupboards while he speed-hums the tune to some rap song.

"So I was wondering if you fellows would like to come by my place and we could… 'hang' and 'chill' for a while. I've got some movies we could watch. And um… yeah. It's up to you, though! Don't feel obligated. Or… well, you know what I mean," Jake struggles to say. Your eyes soften behind your shades. The guy's trying to be as understanding as possible. It's funny, really, how he's a lot jitterier around you and Dave than he is around your big scary brother. He doesn't seem to know how to handle kids. Maybe he's trying too hard to be cool. Maybe he's trying too hard not to sound like an old geezer.

"Cool. I wanna check out the English residence. Do you have some fuckin' awesome vines hanging from the ceiling from your jungle shenanigans?" Dave asks, leaning over the kitchen table as he shoves hot fudge sundae poptarts in his face. Once again, he's got an unbreakable pokerface on. Jake chuckles.

"Uhh… not quite. I'm just a boring ol' bachelor. Just a simple gentleman, sorry to say, mate," Jake says with a small smile. He clears his throat and looks at you. "Well, how about you, Dirk? Feel like hanging out at my place for a bit?"

You shrug.

"Sure. Why the hell not."

* * *

The three of you end up driving over in Jake's big green Jeep, the windows down the whole way. Jake is a rather experienced driver, especially in the art of safely weaving through traffic to easily get to his desired destination. You wonder if his driving skills have anything to do with the orange sticker on his windshield that says ' _SAND DUNES - SEASON PASS_ ' on it. He has a cool confidence about him as he drives; a confidence that sends your heart aflutter. You shift in your seat a little so you can discreetly watch him out of the corner of your eye.

When you get there, you're not surprised to see that he lives in a rather tall, new building that is squeaky clean and nothing like the run down piece of shit in which you live. Your suspicions have been confirmed: this guy is pretty damn well off for a bachelor who should be only just out of college.

"Damn. You must be filthy rich!" Dave whistles from the backseat.

Jake makes a flabbergasted noise as he pulls into an underground garage.

"Wha-! Uh… yes, I inherited quite a bit from Granny when she passed. Ahem," he stammers. He changes the subject. "Well, what do you think from what you saw out there?"

"I think this is going to be sick as shit, man," Dave says, unbuckling his seatbelt as soon as you are parked. He opens the door and gets out, his face blank as ever. You can tell he's excited by the way he swings his head slowly back and forth, pretending to be 'vaguely' interested in the vast space of the underground lot.

You and Jake get out shortly after, then all three of you head to the elevator and begin your ascent up to his floor. He doesn't live very far up; only about four stories. Once you're all on his floor, you get out of the elevator and follow Jake down the hall until he gets to his room, _413A_.

"Make yourselves at home while I get some popcorn popped. First thing we're going to do is watch one of my favorite films of all time."

"What movie?" you ask suspiciously.

"Con Air."

"Oh Jesus," Dave curses under his breath. Jake looks over his shoulder as he opens the door, looking alarmed.

"Oh, did you not want to watch that?"

"No, it's okay. It's just that my friend John talks about it all the damn time. He makes these references to it constantly like some flaming jackass, even though I've never seen it."

"…Is it okay for Dave to watch… rated R movies?" Jake says hesitantly, glancing at you.

"You're talking about a kid who keeps a bunch of weird dead shit in jars in his room," you mutter with a roll of your eyes. "Including a human _fetus_."

Jake pauses.

"Point taken," he says simply as he allows you both inside. His apartment is pretty damn nice. It's modern, and the color scheme is white and chrome. It's actually kind of surprising, since Jake seems out of his element in here. However, his stuff is strewn about the place, so at least there's a _start_ to a wild mess fitting for a jungle man.

"Nice," Dave says, looking at the big plasma screen TV that's mounted on the wall and giving it a thumbs-up.

"Oh, I didn't… realize how much I needed to tidy in here…" Jake rambles, his ears a bit pink as he hastily picks up a few papers and pens from the floor. " _Blast_ …"

"No worries, English," you say, walking over to pat his shoulder. "We feel more at home in clutter, anyway."

Jake visibly relaxes and smiles as he sets the papers aside on a nearby end table.

"Okay. Well, I'm going to go make popcorn, then," Jake says, jerking his thumb over his shoulder and towards what you assume to be the kitchen. "If Dave doesn't feel like watching Con Air, you chaps can decide on something else. It's okay, I love every single film in the world. Literally."

With that, Jake ducks into the kitchen. You and Dave glance at each other for a split second, then practically bring the entire building down with the mad dash for the huge CD/DVD rack beside the fireplace beneath the TV. You and Dave tear through the movies (calmly read them) like animals until both sets of eyes rest on one movie.

"That one," Dave announces. "Either we watch that one or I will sit my ass down and scream and cry until it's in the DVD player."

"I wouldn't mind seeing that," you deadpan out of the corner of your mouth. You grab the movie off the rack and open the case. You lift an eyebrow at the contents. "Wow. English got the collector's edition and everything."

"Dweeb," Dave murmurs. Your lip twitches. Can't argue with that.

You put the movie into the DVD player and turn the TV on without hesitation. Jake's got a pretty simple audio system, so there aren't too many settings that you have to fiddle with. You switch the movie to widescreen, then plop yourself down in the center of the couch. Dave flops down next to you and immediately kicks his feet up on the coffee table.

"You're a fucking slob," you mutter, crossing your arms as you sit back.

"Suck my dick, nerd," Dave hisses right back. You're about to snap a retort, but Jake flies in from the kitchen.

"Sorry I took so long, I couldn't uh… oh, 300?" Jake asks as he comes around to the front of the couch and falls back onto the cushion next to you. You tense up immediately. Shit. You should've had Dave sit in the middle. "Splendid choice, I love this movie."

Personally, you've seen enough ' _This is Sparta!_ ' and ' _Tonight, we dine in hell_ ' jokes to last a lifetime, but it's not like you'll be paying much attention to the movie anyway. The couch isn't particularly large, so all three of you are crammed in with only a few inches of breathing room. Dave doesn't seem to mind, but Jake's broad shoulders and large arms are proving to be quite uncomfortable for him. After he leans forward to press the play button on the remote, he leans back once more and swings his arm up onto the back of the couch. _Directly behind your head._

Jake offers the popcorn to you and Dave. You shake your head once. Dave takes it gratefully and begins devouring it. You swallow and keep your arms tightly crossed. You're smooth with your words, but you don't really know how to turn on your swag when it's proper etiquette to keep your mouth shut. Perhaps that's the similarity between you and your brothers: all three of you always make comments during movies. It's like… Christmas dinner.

The movie starts all right, but you're pretty uninterested. Well, in _comparison_ to the excitement of feeling Jake's upper arm right behind your head, the movie's boring. That and Jake smells good. Real good. You're not certain what you smell. Something piney and spicy and intoxicating, you're sure, but you can't put your finger on it. It makes you want to lean into him and snuggle him and-

Oh shit.

The movie gets steamy between the king and his queen, and it immediately gets awkward in the room. Dave's fucking cackling and laughing his ass off at it, but you and Jake sit absolutely still. Jake shifts ever so slightly and clears his throat.

You, in your infinite wisdom, decide to busy yourself by reaching into your pocket for your phone. However, your fingers catch on something else. You're just able to snatch it up before it tumbles out of your pocket.

The fucking sucker Jake gave you.

You're aware of his eyes on you as you sit back in the couch and just stare down at the sucker in your hands. Of fucking course, the _sucker_. What better way to break the awkward tension that seems to be dragging on forever?

You unwrap the damn thing and put it in your mouth.

You've seen enough shitty anime to know the suggestiveness of what you've just done. You can still feel Jake's eyes on you as you crumple up the wrapper and shove it back in your pocket. The sex scene is long gone now, but it's already too late for you to stop yourself. Might as well milk it for all it's worth.

You pull your legs up onto the couch and bring your knees up to your chest. One arm is wrapped loosely around them to keep them in place as you use the other to move the candy around in your mouth.

His eyes are practically scalding you now. You don't know how you can tell. Probably just your hypersensitivity for every damn thing he does. Or maybe it's that he has literally turned his head partly towards you. You fight the urge to smirk.

Feeling confident in having Jake's full attention, you proceed to put on a sexually suggestive show that'd put a porn star to shame. It's not obvious, of course, because subtlety is your forte. However, you're having a fucking blast seeing if you can get a rise out of Jake. You think you have when he shifts again, swallows loudly, and crosses his legs.

Dave suddenly moves and turns to Jake.

"Yo man, can you pause it? Gotta take a piss."

"Yeah, bathroom's down the hall at the end," Jake rasps. Your lips twitch into a smile when his voice cracks, but luckily he doesn't see it. He uncrosses his legs and leans forward to tap the pause button. Suddenly, it's dead silent in the room and the tension gets thick enough to slice with a chainsaw. Dave either doesn't sense this or doesn't say anything about it as he stands up, stretches, and wanders off to find the bathroom.

He sits back and no longer has anything to watch except for you. However, he's trying his hardest to look at anything else, blatantly ignoring the sicknasty things you're doing to this candy.

 _Bless_ , you think to yourself, smirking a bit. You're feeling quite confident with yourself until the sucker randomly moves too fast and you promptly choke on it. Jake's head whips to you as you pull it out with a pained grunt, running your lips over it before it comes completely out of your mouth. It's almost gone now.

"…You alright, m…ate?" Jake asks. His voice partially gives out.

"Yeah," you say breathlessly. You pop the sucker back in your mouth and decide to give Jake a break. The choke nearly ruined everything, so your confidence dipped a bit again.

"Do you have enough room?" Jake asks suddenly. You look over at him and he's averting his eyes as he palms the back of his neck. You snort quietly.

"Yeah, maybe if I was sitting on someone," you say. Jake shifts as his adam's apple bobs.

"Well…" he trails off. He gnaws his lip. "…Golly, Dave's been gone a real long time, think I should-"

Jake stops as you turn partly towards him. It's an easy maneuver since your feet are already up on the couch, so you just take your legs and drape them over Jake's closest thigh. You lean in close to him, and you actually push your shades up onto the top of your head so you can nestle into his shoulder.

"I… okay. Alright. Um. Devilfucking… _dickens_. I. Well. Um," Jake stutters as he fumbles for his words. He goes quiet for a moment before he takes a deep breath. His arm slowly slides off of the back of the couch and onto your shoulders. He pulls you closer and shifts once again to get himself comfortable.

"Mmm," you hum in content before pulling the sucker stick out of your mouth.

"Here, let me take that for you here, mate," Jake says softly. He takes it from you and tosses it into a nearby ashtray.

"You smoke?" you ask. Jake shrugs.

"Once in a blue moon. Not often at all. The tray is mostly there for guests," he explains. You reach up and take your shades completely off your head to avoid getting them crushed by Jake's head. Folding them neatly, you hold them in your lap. This seems to have been a good move, because Jake leans his head against the top of yours. He takes a deep breath and lets out a sigh. It's shaky. "I see you've taken a fancy to the clothes I got you?"

You look down at your t-shirt. It's the white one with the orange hat printed on the front. You're also wearing one of your new pairs of skinny jeans. A little embarrassed, you don't look up at Jake.

"Yeah. Thanks."

You're both quiet again.

"…Did Dave fall in?" Jake asks. The question catches you off guard, so you have to cover your mouth to stifle your unattractive wheezing laughter.

"I think he's taking a shit," you reply. Now both of you are snickering quietly to yourselves. As if on cue, you hear the toilet finally flush and then the sink running. "He's not very used to having a bunch of food in his stomach. Doesn't know how to even things out and ease himself back into a steady diet."

Jake seems rather troubled by that.

"Your brother went and got food stamps, right?" Jake murmurs. You nod.

"Yeah."

Jake breathes a sigh of relief and holds you close for a moment in a one-armed hug.

"I'd hate it if you got taken away from Dane."

"For my sake or for his?"

"For all three of you," Jake says hurriedly. "I care about all three of you."

"But me the most," you mutter. Jake hears you and lets out a nervous chuckle.

"Now, mate, to say that I care about you the most is…" Jake falters. "Well… okay. I _like_ you the most, but I care about all three of you _equally_. There, does that satisfy your curiosity?"

"Yep," you say. You're happier than you let off.

You hear a door close. Both you and Jake look over just in time for Dave to appear around the corner. He freezes, looking at both of you with a completely straight face. His lips part and his brows come together. There's a moment of silence before Dave slowly raises his hand.

Thumbs-up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to this chapter's betareaders: lofac and vann-haal.
> 
> ...and a very special thanks to this chapter's plot pacing supervisor, dannyazazel.


	5. Chapter 5

The Friday following the cuddle party at Jake's house, you're in your spare room packing up a few things to spend the night at Roxy's house. You pack an extra set of clothes to change into in the morning, and then you carefully grab your laptop on your desk. Roxy has somewhat of a shitty connection at her place, but you have many fond memories of watching stupid cartoons on Netflix on her computer.

"Make sure you bring your toothbrush," Bro's voice reminds you. You glance over your shoulder. He's standing in the doorway with his arms crossed.

"Yeah, I know," you mutter with a shrug.

"Did you eat lunch at school today?" Bro asks. You knit your brows. You don't have the heart to tell him that you have already applied for reduced cost lunch by forging his signature.

"Yes I did," you say smoothly.

"…Need more money in your account?"

"No."

"Alright. Well, I need to have a talk with you and Dave. Finish packin'. Then, kitchen. Hurry up."

With that, Bro leaves and you tense up a little. Shit, what did you do? What did Dave do?

You hurriedly pack the rest of your things in an old duffel bag, then bring all your stuff out to the living room. Dave and Bro are already in the kitchen, speaking lowly. You drop your stuff off at the door before slipping into the kitchen and sitting down in a chair adjacent to Dave at the table. Bro is still standing, his hands in his pockets as he stares blankly at a few papers pinned to the refrigerator.

"As you both know, I've been lookin' for a job these past few weeks," Bro begins with a sigh. He scratches the back of his head. "And uh… I haven't had much luck. Obviously, since I'm still here."

You glance at the stubble growing out on Bro's chin and the black, puffy bags under his eyes.

"So I think… uh."

"You're going to start doing gigs at the club again," Dave states like it's fact. His voice loses its usual coolkid tone. He sounds solemn.

Bro visibly reacts to that. He takes his shades off and pinches the bridge of his nose.

"I'm thinkin' that's what it's come to, li'l man."

Dave looks down at the table. He brings up his elbows and rests his forehead on his steepled fingers. Fourteen year olds shouldn't look so serious, you decide. It makes your throat sting with bile.

"Are there other options?" you ask softly. Bro scoffs, rolling his eyes.

"What do you take me for? Don't you think I've explored every fuckin' option there is out there, kid?" he snaps condescendingly as he flashes a glare in your direction. You shrink down and look at the table. There's a long silence that follows before you feel a hand on top of your head. "I'm sorry."

"Does this mean you'll need your equipment back?" Dave asks. His voice is small. You think you're going to be sick.

"…I'm sorry. I'll find some way to make it up to you."

"I can save your mixes on a CD," you pipe in, looking over at Dave. Dave, whose chin is twitching as his lips pinch tightly together, looks to you. His hunched shoulders relax a little.

"Thanks."

His voice cracks.

"Nobody's hiring because it's already the end of summer. I can't even get a fuckin' dishwashing job," Bro rants. He sounds like he's rationalizing; trying to make things sound like it's going to be okay.

"It's okay. Because you get a shit ton of money from gigs. The people down at the club think you're the shit," Dave says. He's rationalizing, too. You want to shrink down in your chair and melt into the floor, never to be seen again.

"Dirk's old enough to make sure you guys get to school and get home safely," Bro says. "It shouldn't be as bad as last time."

"Are you going to drink again?" you blurt. Silence. Dave hunches up like he's been slapped. Bro goes completely still. You look up at him. He's still got his shades off, and he's staring at you hard. You can't tell if that's anger on his face or fear. You bite your lower lip. "Are you?"

"I don't know," Bro answers. He scratches his hairline again. "God, I really don't know."

Quite a few years back, Bro was the main entertainment for some nightclub a few blocks down. Even though he was close enough to walk to, the distance the gig created was impossible to clear. The place was pretty twisted when Bro worked there. Bro got free drinks for looking hot, and the place used it as a marketing campaign. ' _The guy at the turntables is getting shitfaced: why not everyone else?_ ' was their mindset. When Bro coming home drunk became a… problem, he stopped drinking completely. However, the three of you quickly found out that Bro's paycheck got doubled every time he drank. Without the under-the-table double offer, his paycheck wouldn't be worth the ground he walked on.

You don't want to go into detail about the consequences your family of three suffered back then.

"I think I'll be in more control," Bro finally says. "You know, if they offer me double again."

"You said that last time, too," you argue, your voice still low in your throat. Your hand instinctively goes to the back of your neck. The scar just above your hairline is still there. Still hairless. You're lucky your hair is long enough in the back to cover it up. Bro sees your hand and looks away. "It's hard to resist the temptation of a free drink when it gives you a chance to forget about the demons for a while, isn't it?"

Bro's a blur of movement. He's suddenly standing at the table. You flinch before it even happens. He slams his hand down on the table so hard that it resounds throughout the apartment. Dave jumps _hard_. Actually jumps and cowers in his seat. You regret bringing up the drinking thing when Dave's around.

"You best shut your fuckin' mouth before I shut it for you," Bro hisses through clenched teeth. His flaming eyes practically melt your shades off of your face. "You think you know it all, don't you?"

"I know _you_ well enough," you say. Bro's upper body jerks. His hand is in the air.

Dave makes a completely uncharacteristic, strangled noise. His chair screeches in protest as the legs scrape across the linoleum. Everything freezes as both you and Bro look to Dave, who is standing and looking like he doesn't know what he's doing.

Bro's hand curls into a fist as he brings his arm slowly back down. He straightens, lifting his hands in surrender. You stay seated and quiet.

"I'm takin' the gig," Bro says coldly. "And that's final."

He marches out of the kitchen. A moment later, you hear a door slam somewhere in the apartment. In the silence, you hear how hard Dave is breathing. He's got a straight face, but he's breathing through his nose so hard that it completely betrays his emotionless face.

"Sit down and breathe," you instruct. Dave, in his shock, shakily pushes his chair partially in again and sits down. He's still breathing through his nose. You sigh. "Breathe, Dave."

His mouth falls open and he pants. He's sweating at the brow. You can only imagine the adrenaline pumping through his veins. Dave starts to wheeze.

"Dave," you say. You take off your shades. "Shades off."

He listens to you. His hand flies up and whips his sunglasses off. They clatter onto the table. His eyes, scarlet red and full of panic, are starting to dilate.

"Breathe," you say again, staring him down. He nods and tries to even out his breathing. After a couple minutes, he shakes his head. Shit. "Where's your backpack?"

Dave glances over at the door, where his backpack is sitting up against the wall. You flashstep to it and kneel. Your hands are calm but quick as they dig through the pockets.

You unzip the smallest pocket and retrieve Dave's inhaler.

"Okay, I've got it, try to calm down," you keep on instructing. You pull up your chair and keep your hand on the back of his sweating neck. His eyes flick to you and stare as if you're his lifeline. In ways, you are, but luckily his growing body and lungs are starting to shake off the asthma he's suffered since childhood. You reach up with his inhaler. He tries to grab it himself, but you jerk it away. "Your hands are shaking. You'll miss your mouth if you do it. And if you waste a dose, Bro'll be pissed."

Dave nods and parts his lips. You put the mouthpiece of the inhaler in his mouth and position your thumb on the can of medicine attached to it. Your hand stays on the back of his neck.

"Breathe," you instruct one more time. "Eyes on me. Breathe."

He takes a few deep breaths. When he's ready, you press down on the top of the inhaler at the same moment that he inhales. His eyes roll back in relief as his shoulders relax.

"One more," you say gently. "Deep breaths again."

Dave's breathing is much more controlled already as the drugs sooth his constricting lungs. He takes his last dose and sighs as you remove the inhaler.

"Better?" you ask.

"Yeah," Dave says, reaching up and wiping the sweat off of his face with the back of his hand. He's still catching his breath. "Thanks."

"Mm," you grunt. "It's been a while since you had an asthma attack."

"Asthma ain't got shit on me," Dave scoffs. "I'm Dave motherfucking Strider."

You smirk a bit and hand him his shades. He takes them gratefully and puts them back on. He frowns.

"Sorry I flipped my shit like that."

You shrug.

"I understand. Well, it's a good thing we didn't throw your inhaler away," you say, genuinely thankful that Dave still has it as kind of a crutch. It used to be that it was triggered by even the tiniest of pollen particles in the air. Even exercising, something that Dave did ritualistically back then, was a problem if he did it too much. But the more he (and his lungs) grew, the better it got. Just like you when you were young, he learned how to cope and it soon went away.

Now it's just triggered by stress. And lo and behold, there's a lot of fucking stress in your family.

You, unlike your brothers, aren't afraid to admit that all three of you are physically weak. Your pale skin (which would be the case for Dave and Dane too if they weren't always out in the sun) and abnormally colored eyes aren't the only symptoms of your currently unknown and incurable ailment. Bro and Dave think it's some form of weird, mutated albinism. You're not so sure. Along with the strange pigmentation of your body, all three Striders have really shitty immune systems. When corn is harvested in September and all the dust gets stirred up, you and your brothers always have a hell of a time with terrible allergies. The dust is bound to hit Houston soon, as it is nearly October already. You wonder what's been taking so long.

Colds usually turn into flus and flus turn into _terrible_ fevers. You and your brothers do what you can to fight it: drink juice when it's in the house, eat vegetables, and wash your hands as often as possible. It's part of the reason why you're so diligent in the shower as well. Out of all three Striders, Bro gets sick the most. Ironic, because he's not the one in germ-infested cesspools (AKA school). Dave follows closely behind, so it's usually you who cares for the sick in the apartment. You've dealt with things like Dave's asthma attacks so often that it doesn't scare you anymore. You are the epitome of calm when it comes to Strider sicknesses, and you suppose it's _one_ thing you can pride yourself in.

Conclusion? Looking good isn't the only reason for a lot of exercise and healthy eating (when it's possible, but it's not like Bro could afford anything more than a can of green beans before food stamps anyway). Striders are naturally weak and rather defenseless, so all three of you hide that under a façade of extreme physical strength and agility. It's the Strider way, and it's gotten all three of you this far already.

"What do you think's gonna happen?" Dave asks after a while. His voice is calm, but you know the rest of him isn't. He's averting his eyes and instead looking down to stare at an old stain on the table. You sigh.

"The best thing to do would be to just stay out of his way," you reply, avoiding the question because you don't see the point in lying right to your little brother's face. He shudders once and, instinctively, you reach out to pet his hair and tuck a couple locks behind his ear.

Despite disliking the little shit, he's still family. A Strider never leaves his brother behind.

"I'm uh," Dave begins. He clears his throat. "I'm… this sucks nuts, man."

 _I'm scared_ , he means to say.

"It's not going to get that bad again," you reassure him. "I won't _let it_ get that bad again."

Dave lets out a doubtful grunt.

"We're not the reason he gets pissed off," you continue. "Sometimes we're just… in the way when the guy flips his shit. You know it's not because of us."

"If it's not because of us then why did it happen back then?" Dave huffs, looking up at you as his brows come together under his long bangs. He needs a haircut again.

"He's angry for us, not at us. When he's drunk he doesn't know which one's which."

"He's always fucking pissed off."

You frown.

"Sometimes people aren't just angry on the surface," you mumble. Dave's face contorts.

"How can you keep defending him?" he blurts. He realizes the emotion in his voice and pinches his lips together in an attempt to rein it in.

"And why are _you_ suddenly against him? We're still alive, aren't we?"

Dave makes a disgusted noise in the back of his throat.

"Barely."

"Bro is family."

Dave stares at you long and hard.

"I don't even fucking know what 'family' means anymore."

Pause.

You inhale slowly and exhale again. So your baby brother is starting to develop _your_ mindset. Your selfish, pessimistic, exhausting burden of a mindset. Dave's at that age when he's just beginning to shake off the baby feathers of his naïve middle school days. Without that, what's going to protect him from what the world really is? Cold, cruel, fruitless. Adulthood only ends in taxes and death and poverty. You wonder how long you can make Dave believe in the lie that there's a better life waiting beyond the walls of this damned city. Not much longer, you suppose.

So you lie some more.

"It's going to get better," you say. "Just give it time. Bro's going to start making some sick cash again and maybe we can get out of this shithive."

Dave barely acknowledges you. He stares down at the table some more. His jaw's moving.

"Stop grinding your teeth, you know Bro hates that," you murmur. Dave stops. He swallows.

"Are you sure about it getting better?" he asks.

"What kind of asshole do you take me for?" you ask. "Why would I lie about that?"

Why indeed.

Dave sighs.

"Whatever, man. Wake me up when things get better, because I'm seriously sick of this shit," he says, shaking his head. "Seriously stupid bullshit, man."

"I know," you say.

Dave stands and you follow. You both just stand there awkwardly for a second, looking at each other. You raise your fist and offer it to Dave, but he just flashes you the middle finger before leaning forward and putting his forehead on your shoulder. He's getting taller.

Your arms wrap around him. He's skinny but he's filled out a little bit since the last time you hugged him like this. This should be unsurprising to you since that last time you hugged him was probably three years ago, but you're shocked anyway. You stare straight ahead of you as you hold him tightly, slightly horrified at how fast Dave's growing. You want to give him his innocence back. Shove his childhood in his face and never let him look up from it again. Shield him.

You wonder if Bro felt this way with you. You wonder if Bro visited you in your sleep more often than you think. It's not impossible, you decide. After all, you feel that way with Dave. You just want to envelope him in impenetrable protection for the rest of his life. And despite all that, you still want to bash his head in for being the better brother and forcing you into his shadow.

There's a weird blur of movement, and you think you see the shadow of a figure for a split second. When you blink, a plastic bag appears on the counter. In it is your toothbrush. The jars on the counter rattle where the flashstepper accidentally brushes them. Dave stiffens a little.

"Was that Bro?" he asks.

"Yeah," you answer. "Just getting my toothbrush."

"Do you think he was listening?"

"You're a fucking retard if you think he wasn't."

You and Dave finally release each other. Without another word, Dave's body seems to smear on the plains of reality and fantasy as he flashsteps out of the room. He's not a master at it yet, but he's improving.

As if on cue, you hear a knock at the door.

"Oh Mr. Strider!" calls a muffled female voice. "You ready to go?"

You're about to answer the call when you feel someone ruffle your hair. You look over your shoulder just in time to catch the shadowed form of Bro exiting the kitchen.

"Yeah," you say, still watching the spot where Bro was a second before. You reach up and smooth out your hair. "Coming."

* * *

"Eat my bullets, bitch!"

You lift an eyebrow as Roxy takes out a row of the opposing team with her gun. They all go down one by one, leaving Roxy standing alone surrounded in bodies.

"Nice," you compliment, not moving from your own position in the window of a building. You're zoomed in with a sniper rifle.

You and Roxy are situated on a puffy beanbag chair. Roxy's between your legs and leaning up against your chest. It makes it a little difficult to play Halo, but it's not like that's the reason you came over in the first place. You're still preparing your explanation in your head. Roxy's waiting patiently, showing no signs of pressuring you into giving her the juicy details. It's a little strange of her to not show more interest in the matter, but then again she's literally vibrating against you with excitement.

"So I met this dude," you begin quietly after clearing your throat. Roxy mashes the power button on the remote and the T.V. promptly shuts off. She whirls around, shoves you into the beanbag, and practically crawls on top of you. Her hands plant themselves on both sides of your head, encasing you in a cage of pink and coconut scented lotion. Eyes gleaming, she stares you down.

"Dirk. Mother-effin'. Strider," she says slowly, over-enunciating every word. "Who. Is. He."

"He's not anybody you know," you say hastily (calmly). "My brother's friend. Can we kick some more shiny metal ass on Halo now?"

"Oh Dirky… is he older than you?" Roxy asks, tilting her head. She's starting to look like a predator.

So you flashstep the fuck away from that hot mess.

Roxy snaps her head up as you jump to the opposite side of the room and nearly crash into her door, on which a poster of one of her mom's bestselling books is pinned. You take a deep breath before composing yourself and straightening. You card your fingers through your styled hair and shove a few strands back in place.

"I think it's time for some snacks," Roxy says suddenly. She gets up off the beanbag and brushes a lock of hair behind her ear. She smiles and it's a bit forced. "…And I need a fuckin' drink. I'm getting a nasty headache. You want something, too?"

You nod your head almost too eagerly.

"God yes. Hell yes. I don't care, anything. Thanks."

Roxy nods curtly before brushing past you and leaving her room to go on a hunt for sustenance. You, in the meantime, sigh and go to her bed, where you sit down. Grabbing a stuffed animal (an octopus), you think idly to yourself about nothing in particular.

"Getting some booze, huh?"

You blink in surprise and look up to see Roxy's younger sister, Rose, who's standing in the doorway. Ironically, she's friends with Dave, and is about his age. Gothic, menacing, and rather intimidating, she stares blankly at you with vivid eyes and smiles a little at you with pitch black lips. Her short blonde hair is neatly put together with a headband, and its simplicity sharply contrasts Roxy's sweeping and curling hairstyle.

You're certain Rose has hexed you before.

"Why, did want to join in on our sicknasty shenanigans?" you ask lowly. She cocks her head ever so slightly. Has she even blinked yet…?

"No. I'm afraid I'm not too fond of the taste of alcoholic beverages," she says in that prudish voice of hers. You wonder why Dave is friends with her. Probably because she's secretly just as much of a snotty brat as the rest of Dave's stupid friends.

"I see," you say, nodding a little.

"I like you," Rose says suddenly, which makes your eyebrows come together over the rim of your shades. "You don't blabber on and on like Dave does."

"It's my honor to be blessed by your gracious words," you say dryly. Rose's eyes crinkle a bit.

"Don't flatter yourself. You're still a Strider and _I've got my eyes on you_."

"Rose!"

Rose looks over at something in the hall. Roxy appears there with a bottle of alcohol in one hand and two wine glasses in the other. Scowling, she stomps up to Rose.

"Get out of my room!" Roxy snaps.

"I am not currently _in_ your room, Roxy. Look, I haven't even crossed the threshold," Rose says, dramatically gesturing the floor. Roxy glares at her.

"Oh my God. You know what I mean. Leave Dirk alone, he is _sooo_ creeped out by you."

"Actually I'm unfazed," you pipe in quietly, but you go unheard.

"I'm going to tell Mom that you brought her fancy beverages up to your room," Rose warns, eyeing the bottle. Roxy stiffens and stamps her foot.

"Dude she doesn't even give a shit, go _away!_ " Roxy yells. "She's not even _here_ right now!"

Rose puts on a shiteating grin that'd put Dave's to shame.

"Gotcha," she mutters before turning and running away with a cackle. Roxy lets out a growl that kind of sounds like a mix between a siren and a dying whale. After that, she slams her door shut and flops down on the bed beside you.

"I'm sorry my sister is such a fucking pest. Oh my God," Roxy fumes. She brings one leg up onto the bed so she can fold it under her other leg, then turns towards you. "A drink for you, Mr. Strider?"

"God yes," you groan. It's been a while since you've had alcohol. Your elder brother, obviously, doesn't want you drinking it. You don't want yourself to drink it. At least not when you're even remotely close to your apartment. You don't know if you'll go off on everyone when you're drunk like Bro does, but you're not about to take that risk.

Roxy pours you a drink first, and you feel fancy as fuck as you take a sip of it. It seems too strong to be in a wine glass, but you can't bring yourself to give a shit.

"Okay, my specta-ta-tafacle'd friend," Roxy says, butchering the word after she takes a huge gulp of the alcohol in her glass and swallows it with a shiver. "On last week's episode, you were _totes_ fuck deep in love with a gentleman… an _older_ gentleman."

"I wouldn't say fuck deep in _love_ ," you say, looking down at your glass and swirling the contents around. "Maybe fuck deep in uh… middle school girl level crush."

"Close enough," Roxy says with a cheesy wink. "We were middle schoolers only three years ago, Dirk. C'mon, spill the goods! The beans! C'mon, let me see those _elusive feelings_ you were talkin' about!"

You laugh a bit nervously as Roxy leans forward and reaches up to grab your shades. You don't stop her as she takes them off and sets them aside.

"Your eyes are soooo gorgeous," Roxy sighs dreamily, fluttering her eyelashes at you.

"My eyes. Are an ocean," you begin. Roxy barks out a laugh.

"Your breasts. Are also an ocean," you and Roxy finish together. You're both laughing now, you with your wheezing and Roxy with her hyena giggling and yipping.

"Omigod," Roxy says once she's recovered enough to speak again. She takes another drink. "I wonder if Janey even remembers that."

"How is Crocker doing, anyway?"

"Good!" Roxy says with a nod. She uncrosses and recrosses her legs, reaching down to adjust her leggings. "She graduated from that fancy-shmancy cooking college a while back. Last time I talked to her she was headin' out to visit her cousin in New York. Her cousin's mom is, like, _the_ Betty Crocker. When Jane told me that I was like 'whoa nelly, no way', because holy shit. Betty Crocker. Apparently Janey's a little upset that she's not inheriting the company. It doesn't really make sense, because her cousin isn't even going to study culinary. She's, like, going into marine biology and shit… wants to go to Africa to study wildlife and help people in need. Yep, last I heard the Crocker family was having a crazy dispute with big bad Auntie Meenah."

You whistle.

"Damn, I didn't know that was going on. And how about her grandpa?"

Roxy sighs.

"Poppop finally croaked over summer vacation, actually," Roxy says with a small shake of her head. "Jane was pretty upset about it from what I've heard. My mom has been talking to her 'n stuff. I'm kind of mad Jane hasn't talked to me, but… I guess she needs my mom's… infinite wisdom or whatever."

"That blows," you comment, shaking your head as you take another drink in honor of good ol' Poppop Crocker.

"Yeah, so last I've _heard_ ," Roxy starts. "And I've just been hearin' this, so don't quote me on this, but I think Jane's actually down in Houston for a bit, visiting with an old friend from when she lived in Eupope, whoopsie, I mean Europe. I heard her and my mom talking on the phone about a week ago. Says that she's tryin' to woo someone that sounds like he looks like a big hairy Sasquatch or some crazy stuff like that before he runs off to war in a year or so. I think it's a lost cause. But whatever, that's Janey's choice and I support her three _hundred_ percent."

You stare at Roxy.

"Did your mom mention his name?" you ask sharply, brows instantly furrowing. Roxy jerks her head back a little.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Mr. Strider, don't turn into the incredibibble Hulk on me," she giggles with a little hiccup before she takes another drink. You reach out and take her wrist, making her pull the glass away. "Hey… I was drinkin' that. Rude."

"Roxy," you say. "Did your mom mention his name? At all?"

"Ugh, I dunno," Roxy groans. "Ummmmm… lemme think here…"

She squints up at the ceiling and holds her forehead.

"Uhhhh… I think she mentioned a… a Jeff? A J… John…? No…"

"…A _Jake?_ " you question. Roxy jumps and snaps her fingers.

"Oh yeah! Yeah, that guy! Jake English."

"Oh my fucking God," you moan, tipping your head back and shutting your eyes.

"What's wrong, Dirk? Frigglish got your tongue? Hehehe."

"No," you mutter. "Roxy, it's the same guy."

"Huh? Wha-?"

"The guy I like and the guy Jane's trying to hook up with or whatever," you say, bringing your eyes back down to look at Roxy. Realization crosses her features.

"Oh noooo," Roxy says. "Oh noo, Jane. And _you!_ Oh nooonono…"

"I should give up," you sigh. Roxy looks at you for a long time. You're trying not to look crestfallen. You're truly trying, because there was a point when you, Roxy, and Jane all played online video games together. There was a time when you'd all waste the hours away in MSN messenger. Jane didn't care that she was much older than you two. Jane didn't care that you were poor and could rarely get on your rickety old computer because it was the only damn computer in the Strider family. Jane didn't care that Roxy had disconnection issues. From what you remember, she is incredibly kind. A sweetheart. Someone that could easily sweep Jake off his feet because she, unlike you…

…She, unlike you, is Jane.

"No," Roxy says quietly. She puts her hand on your knee. She's warm. "You're makin' it seem like Jane is more entitled to Jake. Nobody 'deserves' Jake over the other. That'd be totes unfair. Don't give up, Dirk."

Roxy sets her glass aside on the end table, then takes your empty glass and sets it aside as well. She turns back to you and frowns.

"Me and Jane might be BFFs for lifesies, but I love you just as much and it hurts to see you like this."

"Like what?" you question. Roxy's eyebrows come together.

"I'm not a dummy," she says. "You're always so sad, Dirk."

She outstretches her arms and hugs you tightly around the neck.

"I'm not capable of this human emotion called love or sadness. Cannot compute," you joke halfheartedly. Roxy squeezes you.

"Liar, liar, pants on fire," Roxy whispers.

"I'm gay, I'm shit poor, and I look nothing like my brothers. Why even bother attempting this stupid thing? It's stupid. That's all it is," you say. Your voice is quiet. Withdrawn. "I don't even give a shit. It was just a little fling."

"You admitted you're gay, yaaaay," Roxy quietly cheers in your ear, swaying back and forth with you. You snort. Roxy pulls away and holds you by the shoulders. "But for serious. I know somewhere, _deeeeep_ down in your soul..."

You snicker. She's really milking it now.

"You have a heart, Mister," Roxy hisses through her teeth. She leans in really close, her free hand splayed across your chest. "Follow your _dreamssss_ …"

Her head plops down onto your shoulder.

"Thanks, Roxy, I am truly grateful for your ingenious insight on the subject," you sigh. Roxy hums contentedly as you take her wine glass from her and set it aside. Yours is only half gone, but you set that aside as well.

"You spendin' the night?" Roxy asks, lifting her head. You nod.

"Of course. The _last_ thing I want to do right now is go home."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to this chapter's beta readers: vann-haal and lofac. (I actually had a couple more beta-readers, but I accidentally emptied my inbox before I could save their tumblr URLs. To those beta-readers, please be sure to swing by my tumblr inbox sometime today and let me know if you did some proofing!)


	6. Chapter 6

Monday mornings suck ass, especially when you’re stuck in biology with a teacher who might as well be a drone. An emotionless, monotonous, boring old drone. You tip your head back and close your eyes, leaning as far back in your stool as it’ll go. The teacher won’t see you. The way that the lab is set up is so strange and inconvenient for teaching that basically anything gets by without being noticed.

Yes, nothing is noticed, including the folded piece of paper that drops on your desk. You look over at Roxy, who sits across the table from you. She's wearing her lab goggles on the top of her head like it's a fashion statement. When you catch her eye, she winks at you and blows you a kiss. You don't react, and instead you unfold the note and read it.

_sooooo? have u thought of my propasishun?_

It's in hot pink ink. You chew on the inside of your cheek as you grab your favorite orange pen and put it to the paper.

_Proposition*. And no, I didn't. I actually had a shitload of stuff to deal with after I left your house on Saturday. One man can't do everything at once, you know._

You pass the note back. Roxy takes a moment to read it, then retrieves her pen from behind her ear and writes a response. She slides it back without even bothering to check if the teacher is watching. But there's no need to worry; you're watching him out of the corner of your eye. You read the message.

_oh wow rly? that sux man olol. im guessin it had soemthing to do w/ ur bros?_

_You guessed it. Gold star for you._

_whts goin on now with em_

_Dane's taking up gig stuff again. He was fine when he came home Saturday night. Or should I say Sunday, because he got home at three in the morning. Dave was already conked out. He hadn't been drinking or anything, so that's a plus. He brought home a shitload of tips, too. I've actually got some cash in my wallet if you can believe it._

_i c, i c. so does that mean dronking isnt gonna be a thing?_

_I don't know._

_well i hope it all goes well for u and ur lil bro. hes such a sweetiepie i dont understan why bad things hapen 2 sweetiepies dirk!_

_He is not, in any way, a sweetie-pie. He is a fiery demon from the bowels of hell._

_aww broferly love <33_

_No._

_anyways back 2 bidness! i rly think u should try talkin to jane. shes alot more understanding than u think. plus she loves you like WOW DANK she thinks ur a sweet thang_

You're about to respond when the teacher releases everyone from his lecture and allows the lab work to begin. You get up to grab two lab assignment sheets before coming back to respond to Roxy's written note.

"I don't want this to turn into a competition for Jake. Jane is awesome, even though I haven't been keeping up with her," you say lowly as you pull up your lab stool and sit down on it. Roxy frowns and props her elbows up on the table.

"Janey would never, ever see it as a competition," she says, pouting her bottom lip. You snort a little.

"I'm mostly talking about myself. Jane is sweet and kind and caring, and I'm… well. I'm on the verge of being homeless and I'm not even a legal adult yet. If I carry on with this shit, it's going to turn into a competition because, at this point, that's the only goddamn way to win this," you explain, your voice barely above a whisper. Your tone, however, is firm. Roxy doesn't back down.

"It's not the only way and you know it," Roxy says, brows coming together. "You need to talk to her. Think of the children!"

"What?" you ask, startled. Roxy grins a little.

"Nothin'. I just wanted'ta say that. But seriously dude, just-"

"Just drop it," you interrupt, sounding a little more harsh than you mean to. Roxy looks a bit crestfallen, so you shake your head. "Sorry, okay? I understand you're enthusiastic about this whole thing but… I guess it's only been a few weeks. I bet Jane has liked him for a lot longer. I've got other shit to worry about right now so… so I guess I'm just going to let it go."

"Dirk…" Roxy trails off.

"No," you respond. "It's fine. I really don't care."

* * *

On this fine (blistering hot) day, Dave has to stay after school for a detention. Something about playing a stupid prank with his friends. From what you heard, buckets were involved. You honestly don't want to know. Luckily, the kid has money to get home on the public transit.

So instead of taking your normal walk through the alley and waiting around for Dave, you decide to get your pale ass out of the sun. Immediately. You stop by a drug store and grab a couple Gatorades, telling yourself that you'll drink both of them. But you also know Dave will want one, so one of the two Gatorades is - _coincidentally_ \- his favorite flavor. Just in case you decide to skip out on being a dick today.

With the drinks in hand, you go home. It's so hot; sweat's dripping in your eyes and making your styled hair wilt on your head. Your shirt is plastered to your skin and your pants are starting to itch. You're fairly certain you're going to die before you make it to your apartment building.

But of course, you make it, and it's a relief to at least get out of the direct rays of sunlight. You go up the elevator (stuffy as a sauna), stumble out of it, then make your way to your apartment. Fumbling with the keys, you have some trouble getting in for a moment. A second later you manage to unlock your door and step inside.

You slam the door behind you and let out a long, low moan.

"Oh sweet Jesus," you hiss through your teeth. You drop all your shit, Gatorades included, and lean up against the door. Shutting your eyes, you wipe the sweat from your face. "Oh, God."

You reach down and dramatically grab the hem of your shirt. Popping your hip, you thrash your head to the side and send your shades to the floor with a clatter. Slowly, you pull your shirt up and do a little celebratory dance.

"Oooohhhhfffuckyesmmm," you slur, lifting the shirt above your head and tangling your arms up in it. "Take me, air conditioning. Oh God, _take me_."

"…Strider?"

(In retrospect, you're pretty sure you would've seen it coming thanks to, again, the shitty anime you've seen. But nope, you're actually a huge dunkass. Great job, champ.)

Your eyes snap open and Jake's standing in the middle of the living room, staring. Neither of you react. Once again, topaz and emerald clash in the most beautiful of ways. However, this time it's because your glistening torso and totally attractive nips are on full display. Yup, right in front of the guy you've basically been falling all over yourself for. Brilliant.

"Sup," you finally say, untangling your arms and casting your shirt aside. Jake just stares for a second more before shaking his head.

"Hi. How was school?" he asks stiffly. You stoop down to grab the Gatorades you dropped. You go to your shades and grab those, too.

"Hot," you say as you straighten again and put your shades back on. "Really fucking hot, man."

"I… I see that," Jake says. He clears his throat. "Uh…"

You go up to Jake and wordlessly offer him one of the Gatorades.

"No thanks, chap. I don't quite like those flavored drink… things."

You shrug and head towards the spare room. You hear Jake follow closely behind.

"So what brings you to our humble abode today, English?" you ask. You hope your back isn't too grossly sweaty. If it is, you silently pray to whatever gods out there that Jake doesn't notice.

"Dane wanted me to pick up Dave once he's out of detention."

Chuckling quietly, you pick your way through your spare to get to your laptop. You grab it, then turn around. You practically run into Jake because he's so close behind you.

"It gets hotter than hell in here. Let's go to the living room," you say, nodding towards the door. You can't help but notice that Jake's eyes flick down. You cock your head to the side. "Dude you… you want me to put on a shirt or something?"

"No!" Jake says a little too quickly. "No, I mean… if you're comfortable… I don't… mind… er… great _Gatsby_."

"Ha. Alright, chief, let's go," you say, nudging Jake. He flicks his eyes down once more before turning and clumsily making his way out of the spare once more. Smirking, you roll your eyes and follow. Once you're in the living room, you flop down onto the futon and crack open a Gatorade.

"Mind if I grab a uh… a beer?" Jake asks. While you take a big gulp of Gatorade, a bit of the orange drink dribbles out from between your lips and runs down your throat. Jake makes a weird dying animal noise. "…or a _few?_ "

"Knock yourself out, dude," you say distractedly, opening up one of your bookmarked websites. Jake ducks into the kitchen, then emerges a minute later with four beers cradled in his hands. You lift your brows at him. "I didn't mean _literally_ knock yourself out."

"My apologies, mate, I'm quite parched I must say," Jake says, sitting down on the opposite side of the futon and setting the beers down. He opens one without hesitation and proceeds to down the whole thing in one go. He bounces his leg as he chugs it, as if he wants to jump up and do a fucking pirouette or something.

When he drains the whole thing, he slams it down on the coffee table and shudders hard. You eye him suspiciously before shrugging it off and getting back to scrolling down the page of the website you're on.

"Whatcha looking at?" Jake asks after a minute or so. When you look up at him, you see that he has already started his second beer and has a light pink dusting on his cheeks. You just smirk a little.

"Nothing you'd be interested in, man."

Jake slides over despite your words, instantly swinging an arm up onto the back of the futon. Shit. This guy's making it really hard for you to get over him.

"Tell me, Strider," Jake says, crowding you a bit. You're starting to sweat again, so much so that it makes your nose slick with perspiration. You have to remove your shades, lest you want them to slip completely off and hit your keyboard. You set them aside, then hover your cursor over a picture on the screen.

"Check these out," you say. "Aren't they sweet?"

Jake tilts his head.

"They're… puppets," he states, sounding a bit confused.

"Marionettes," you correct. "See, they've got those strings so people can control them from above."

"They look a little freaky," Jake says with a grimace. You shrug.

"You're not the first to say that. Me and Bro think they're pretty rad. Dave doesn't really like 'em, though. Did you know that Bro and I used to make things like these? Puppets and shit like that."

"Dazzling," Jake says with a tipsy smile. He sets aside his second empty can and picks up his third. "I like it when you talk about your life. I don't understand you blokes sometimes. You're so… _secretive_ and all that."

Jake opens the third beer and takes a big gulp. His neck and collar is starting to redden a bit. This guy can't really hold his alcohol, but he sure loves drinking it.

"Yeah, well, back when money wasn't such a big deal, Bro and I went out all the time to get fabric. Then we'd come home and I'd help him sew these little plush doll things. They were pretty weird, but Bro was actually able to sell a few online," you explain. Jake listens to every word. He's not looking at the screen anymore. Just at you.

"Why doesn't he do that anymore?"

"Well…" you trail off. "Dave was pretty young, so that shit really freaked him out. Gave him nightmares and stuff. So Bro sold the last of them and told me that we'd wait until Dave was a little older."

"He's still not old enough?" Jake asks. Your little half-smile flickers a bit.

"Uh… well, actually, as time went on… money got tighter and tighter. Bro was young, too. There was some uh… frivolous spending, you know? I don't blame him, though. He ain't our father. He was just another irresponsible kid. We had some cool shit for a while. Thought we had it figured out. Then we got into debt and had to sell a bunch of it. We still have a few things, like our shitty computer and Bro's equipment. Stuff we couldn't really let go. Bro got a pretty good job down at a nearby club but… well, that didn't work out, so he started doing other cheap shit. And now… yeah. Dave's old enough to handle it, but with all of the other expenses, fabric for puppets and shit is out of the question."

You shrug. You take a drink of Gatorade, not accustomed to speaking for such a long period of time.

"Bro's made a lot of sacrifices for us," you say very quietly. "He had dreams, I'm sure. Back when he was in high school, you know? But when Mom and Dad left, he didn't hesitate to throw that all away for me and Dave. Sometimes I wonder what those dreams were. Puppets, music, something completely different? I'll probably never know."

Jake is silent. When you look up at him, he's red in the face and looking at you with half-lidded eyes. You roll your eyes at him.

"Wow, what the hell, man? Were you planning on picking up Dave or getting a ticket for drunk driving?" you ask. Jake blinks lazily at you. He is way too close.

"I d'unno," Jake says slowly. "I thought a nice cold drink would help."

"Help with what?"

"Strider," Jake says, completely ignoring your question. He glances down for a second, then looks back up at you with bleary eyes. He swallows and parts his lips. His breath smells of alcohol. "Strider do you… do you, by any chance, fancy me?"

Complete.

Utter.

Silence.

"What?" you finally ask. Your mouth is full of cotton.

"Do you fancy me?" Jake asks again, loosely furrowing his eyebrows at you as if his sober, solemn self is trying to break through the fuzz of alcohol. It's hard to take him seriously because he's slurring his words so bad, but at the same time he's not completely shaken up and awkward about his wording. He has just laid everything down on the line for you to see.

Your voice is completely gone.

"Why do you ask?" you finally croak. Jake looks away for a moment and shrugs.

"I don't know, mate, it's just… sometimes I feel like the things you say are… perhaps a little suggestive? Or that you're making passes at me and… I d'unno, I'm probably just tooting my own horn at this point."

You chew your lip as you stare blankly down at the screen of your laptop. As Jake speaks, you shakily reach up and close the lid.

"Dreadfully sorry if I'm completely wrong. It's just something that caught my attention is all," Jake continues, turning partially away from you and tracing the top lip of his fourth, half-empty beer with the tip of his finger. You lean forward and put your laptop on the coffee table. Jake swallows again. "And… I bet this is terribly awkward for you so I think… I think I'll run along and pick up Dave now!"

Jake hastily sets his beer down and stands up way too quickly. He wavers on his feet for a few seconds, giving you enough time to stand up and flashstep right in front of Jake. He gasps sharply and jumps violently, nearly tipping over. You grab him by the forearms to steady him. He's quite a bit taller than you. Your eyes line up with his lips, which have been chewed and gnawed into a cherry red color. They look soft. Your eyes trail up his face to meet his gaze. His breathing is shaky and you feel drunk on the scent of alcohol on his breath. Swaying a little, you move your hands up to his upper arms.

"Is this okay?" you ask, tilting your head. Jake swallows and nods a little. The artery in his neck is throbbing with his hastened heartbeat. Your hands travel to his shoulders, then slide down his chest to rest just above his heart.

"Holy sweet blessed mother of… of E-Ernest J. _Gaines_ ," Jake curses in a low growl as he tips his head back. He squeezes his eyes shut for a second as if he's fighting to collect himself. He almost looks like he's in pain.

"Are you okay?" you ask. Jake puts his head in his hand.

"I don't know," Jake admits, sounding wounded. "I don't know what's wrong with me at all."

"Do you 'fancy' _me?_ " you press. He lifts his head and looks you in the eye. He parts his lips as if to answer, then shuts his mouth again. His lips flap soundlessly for a few seconds.

"I don't know, mate," he finally chokes out. Jake doesn't sound sorry or apologetic. He sounds truly torn between _yes_ and _no_.

So much for letting _this_ motherfucker go.

"Jake," you say, your voice nothing but a whisper.

"Strider," Jake murmurs back. His chest puffs up a little as he breathes. His cheeks are even redder than before. Your blood is rushing too fast through your veins to care about just how drunk Jake is. The red flags waving in your brain tell you that drunk Jake isn't the same as the Jake that fumbles with his words when he's in the mere presence of minors. You can't stop yourself.

You lean into him and his hands instantly fly up to grab your waist. No, he _clutches_ your waist. The way he sort of pushes you a little shows that sober Jake is in there somewhere, still thinking coherent thoughts. You, in your infinite stupidity, see it as a good thing.

_This is fucking dangerous. Back the hell up, moron._

He stiffens as you stretch up on your tiptoes. You're so close that all you have to do is pucker your lips and you'd be kissing his chin. Tilting your head up a little, you part your lips.

" _Fuck,_ " Jake hisses through gritted teeth. The way his mouth moves to form the word makes his lower lip just barely graze against your upper lip.

The throaty, needy sound that bubbles up from your chest is fucking _sinful_ and you know it.

The door to the apartment slams open and a familiar voice starts complaining loudly about how it's 'way too hot for fucking October'. You and Jake both jump out of your skin and shove away from each other. Jake looks panicked, like he has just been shot. And just as fast as a bullet, he pushes past you and sprints out of the apartment. You're frozen, eyes wide. Your hands are still lifted and splayed, as if the warmth of Jake's chest and heartbeat is still there.

"Whoa, what the fuck, man?" Dave's voice yells after Jake. The door to the apartment closes. "Damn, where's the fire and holy shit where's your shirt."

Dave comes up beside you and touches your arm. Without breaking your empty stare at the opposite wall, you slug Dave in the shoulder as hard as you can. He reels back, pinwheeling his arms to keep his balance.

"What the _shit_ , man?" he shouts, socking you in the arm in retaliation. That knocks you back into reality.

Cities crumble, volcanoes erupt, and oceans rise inside of you as you realize the devastation of what has just transpired.

"Holy _shit!_ " you spontaneously bark, startling Dave. He's obviously not used to you making a lot of noise. With a groan, you squat, rest your elbows on your thighs, and hide your face.

"Dude?" Dave asks. He flops down on the floor beside you, crossing his legs. "…Why's your shirt off? Did English…?"

He sounds genuinely concerned. You turn your head to him, then reach out and ruffle his hair.

"No, li'l man. Nothin' like that," you assure him. Heaving a huge sigh, you tip back and sit down fully on the carpet. "But I don't think Jake'll come over anymore."

"Oh my God. What kind of fucked up garbage did you tell him?" Dave asks in an accusing voice. "Your _My Little Pony_ shit? Huh?"

"I didn't…" you trail off. You shake your head. "I don't know what the fuck I was doing at all. He didn't, either."

Dave looks around and sees the beer cans on the coffee table. He frowns hard.

"Were you drinking, man?" he asks ever so softly.

"No."

"…English had four beers?"

"Yeah, in like twenty minutes."

" _Why?_ " Dave asks incredulously. "Dude can't hold alcohol for shit!"

"I know. And I don't know why he… well, he mentioned that the beers 'weren't helping' after a while," you explain with a shrug. "And maybe it's because I was flirting with him. I don't know. That's all I know."

Dave is dead silent for a moment. After a while, he reaches up and takes off his shades. This grabs you attention. You look at him, and he's staring at you with inhuman intensity.

"Dude, Dirk, are you _gay?_ "

Your adam's apple bobs. Once you're locked into a stare-down, you can't look away, so your only choice is to nod.

Dave leans back a little, still keeping eye contact but looking slightly perturbed. You finally have to look down and away.

"Don't tell Bro," you say. "Seriously. Don't even fucking joke about it."

"I wouldn't," Dave says. "…Because I kind of understand."

You snap your head up and squint at Dave.

"You're gay?"

"No, no, Jesus no," Dave says, curling his lip back as if he's disgusted by the mere idea. You're almost offended by that, but you remind yourself that the kid's only fourteen.

"How do you understand, then?" you ask skeptically. Dave looks down as if he's searching the floor for a second. He takes a deep breath.

"Well, it's kind of fucked up, so stay seated, this shit's about to blow you away. Anyway, I guess I kind of just… don't care? Like I don't give a shit if they're a chick or a dude or something in between. Like, I seriously don't give a fuck. Uh… like, I think I like Rose because she's sassy and smart as hell and stuff, but then there's John and I don't know if I want them both at the same time or… fuck, I shouldn't be telling you this."

Dave's fidgeting quite a bit. He looks up at you and meets your expressionless gaze. He looks away again.

"Yeah. It's really fucking embarrassing and uncool as hell. And up until now I didn't think anyone would get it because that shit's really weird, y'know? But who would've guessed that my own bro would get it? That's pretty fuckin' crazy."

You sigh through your nose and reach out to ruffle Dave's hair again.

"Perhaps we have more in common than I assumed," you murmur. Dave smirks and slaps your hand away.

"Fuck you, man. I'm still the ironic coolkid and you will always be the weeaboo loser with _out_ a hot tan."

You shove Dave's head and he tips back a little, laughing. Your smile fades, however, as you look back down at the floor.

"So I think I finally get what's going on," Dave announces after a while. You acknowledge him with a questioning grunt. "You're being a huge cocktease, bro. And English's popping a huge boner for your shenanigans."

"What?" you ask, looking up at Dave and shaking your head a little. "I have been as subtle as it gets."

"You call throwing your ass into his lap 'subtle'?" Dave asks. You can't respond to that. "Trust me, man. You baited the trap, and now you're fuck deep in Jake English. What will you do?"

"I promised myself that I'd let it go today," you groan, tipping your head back in frustration. "But as soon as I saw him, I-"

"You were dripping wet for him again," Dave says. You wrinkle your nose at the imagery, but you nod. "Christ, Dirk. I always imagined you going for some classy as fuck older woman. Not a complete moronic doofus with movie posters and action figures covering literally every square inch of his room."

You stare at Dave.

"You saw his _room?_ " you ask. "When?"

"I did a bit of exploring when I went to go take a piss at his house last week," Dave says casually with a shrug of his shoulders. "Seriously. The guy is a full-out dork and I bet he's going to get his ass beat when he gets shipped off to war."

You can't help but to scoff at that. Shaking your head, you look away.

"Doesn't really matter now anyway. The guy's never going to look me in the eye again."

"Aw, come on. He likes you a lot," Dave says. "He likes _all_ of us lowly urchin brats."

"He basically freaked the fuck out when you walked in," you sigh. "If my calculations are correct… I'd say I have a ninety-nine point nine to the tenth power percent chance that he'll never speak to me again."

"I think he flipped his shit because I _walked in_ , not because you were about to get your mack on with him," Dave disagrees. When you don't answer, Dave just shrugs at you again and slips his backpack off. You watch as he proceeds to tear his shirt off.

"Show off," you mutter, flashing Dave the middle finger when he flexes his pretty impressive torso.

"So when did you find out that you liked cock?" Dave asks casually, blatantly ignoring your comment. You look away and purse your lips in thought.

"I am not certain, really. Even if it _has_ been since birth, it's not like it really mattered until recently. And actually, I've liked a girl or two in my lifetime. So maybe it's not even 'gay'? Perhaps I'm some gay-straight-lesbian transformer."

"That is the coolest shit you have ever said," Dave says almost adoringly.

"Whatever. I guess I just call myself 'gay' because it's easiest. A more accurate term would be 'my heart does whatever the fuck it wants'."

With that, you hop gracefully to your feet and go to the coffee table. You pick up the other Gatorade you bought -the red flavor- and toss it to Dave. He catches it easily as he slips his shades back on.

"A treat from me," you say. "Wanna watch a movie?"

"Hell yeah."

You sit down on the couch and grab your laptop. Dave comes to sit next to you, watching as you open the computer. It's still on your puppet site.

"Ouch," Dave hisses. "You don't show your hot date that shit, man."

"Fuck off," you growl, shoving at Dave. He doesn't budge, just scoots closer to you.

"You haven't been all quiet and shit lately," Dave observes. You lift an eyebrow and look over at him.

"What?"

"I can actually hear when you talk," he says. "It's a Christmas miracle."

You look back down at your screen, a bit dumbfounded by Dave's statement. You hadn't even noticed.

"…Miracles, man," you finally say. Dave nods melodramatically and opens the Gatorade. He lifts it above his head in a toast to you.

"Fuckin' word. A toast to homos," he says before bringing the bottle to his lips. "May our futures be bright and full of strippers sliding down sparkling rainbows."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to this chapter's beta reader, vann-haal.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPRINTS IN  
> THROWS IN CHAPTER  
> FLAILS ARMS AND SCREECHES AS I RUN AROUND IN A CIRCLE AND FALL OFF A CLIFF  
> god I am SO sorry this is so late, I had life stuff and then I had writer's block and I FINALLY finished this today! jesus lord haVE MERCY........  
> Anyway! Enjoy the chapter. I didn't have beta-readers this time around, but I made sure to read it through as much as I could. I think most of the mistakes were caught, but if you spot one, feel free to gently let me know!  
> Thank you, and enjoy this (SUPER LATE......) chapter!

Jake doesn’t show up for days. Weeks. Dave tries to be optimistic for you, but you’re fairly certain that it’s the end of the line for your short-lived crush. You are a hundred, perhaps a _thousand_ times more upset about it than you let off. You spend your nights tossing and turning in bed, staring wide-eyed at the ceiling. Calculating, concluding, imagining. Every single possibility and scenario in which Jake absolutely loathes your guts passes through your mind at night, rendering you a shaking, nervous mess by the end of the month.

On the bright side, Dave is much more amicable towards you. It provokes a bit of skepticism from Bro, but he passes it off as a result of the alleviated economic tension in the house. It’s not like he sees very much of you two enough nowadays to notice a developing relationship anyway. Money is rolling in again. You’re not that afraid of withering up and literally floating away anymore. Dave’s diet has evened out again. Bro avoids you two when he gets home late at night. You know it’s because he’s wasted. Life moves on.

The crop dust finally reaches Houston like a tsunami of sickness and pure, unironic shit. The only casualty, of course, is Bro. For a week or so, he chills out on the futon while you and Dave serve him and hover around him like worried, sad puppies. He almost never responds to his treatment. Sometimes he yells at you or Dave to get away from him to give him some air. While you’re tending to his fever one day, however, he cups your face in his hand and just looks at you in the eye like you’re the single most loved person in his life. He passes out shortly after.

Fall rolls into winter. Bro asks you about Jake. Wonders why the guy has been ‘too busy to come watch you brats’. You shrug like you don’t know shit. Guilt eats you alive.

Bro is getting confident that he has a rein on his drinking problem and initiates small conversation with you and Dave when he gets home at night. This makes you nervous, as the whole thing is going down the same fucking path it has a thousand times before. Dave senses it, too. Doesn’t say anything about it. But he can feel it. You don’t know whether to feel proud or unnerved by the fact that Dave is turning out to be just as cautious and analytical as you.

Texas floats at a comfortable fifty to sixty-five degrees in November. You and Dave enjoy your first real Thanksgiving dinner in years. Bro is proud to take time off of work for it. You actually have leftovers, and you’re overjoyed when half the shit doesn’t fit in the refrigerator and you have to stuff it in the freezer. Dave quietly requests a prayer, then feels bad because it’s after dinner.

You and Bro both reach out to ruffle his hair at the same time, and your hands nearly clash.

Dave leads the prayer and he’s really shitty at it because he keeps using slang that God probably won’t understand. Additionally, it’s just the three of you awkwardly standing around with your arms crossed and your heads very slightly bowed. You wonder what’s with Dave’s change of heart. The three of you haven’t been living a Christian life since Bro started drinking.

You’re honest in saying that you don’t understand religion. Thus, it is not religion you believe in. You believe in God. Or _a_ god. You’re not sure. You believe that there’s something or another living up there because, having gotten so close to it before, death scares the shit out of you and it makes you uneasy thinking about becoming literally nothing. As if your life was never there, as if you never breathed in any of the air here on Earth. You don’t know if it’s the calculating part of you or the childish part of you that is so scared of becoming nothing.

Thanksgiving and November pass without a hitch. The Strider family races through December. All of you are excited for Dave’s fifteenth birthday on the twenty-third.  Kid’s pretty old for middle school, you think. You wonder, vaguely, why Bro had him start school so late.

On that day, Jake shows his face.

“Ho-ho-ho!”

Dave just finishes opening his spattering of small gifts from you and Bro when Jake slams into the apartment like he owns the place. He’s dressed up like Santa Claus and you don’t even try to stop yourself from dropping your forehead into your palm.

“English!” Bro exclaims warmly, standing from the futon. Dave scrambles up from the floor and runs to Jake (Santa) to get his obligatory brofist and secret handshake. Bro approaches him second and gives him a friendly clap on the shoulder. Everyone’s all joyful and full of birthday/Christmas cheer and here you are, sitting on the futon like a pouty little bitch.

“Greetings, Dirk!”

You look up at Jake through your shades. His stupid fake beard shifts as if he’s smiling. You stare back at him until he’s forced to uncomfortably look away. Yeah, this guy’s a dirty dog and he knows it. You’re a really sicknasty mess of hurt and angry and freaked out and you _really_ hope it’s not showing on your face right now.

“Strider, I’ve been hearing inklings that it’s your birthday today!” Jake starts up once more. You watch out of the corner of your eye as he drops his ‘toy bag’ from his shoulder. Dave, without hesitation, tears into it like a wild animal. Just as Jake said four months ago, your brothers are receiving treatment similar to yours when it was your birthday.

Dave gets a sweet miniature mixer, a laptop, a camera, other trinkets and electronics, and of course a box of clothes. A red and white shirt with a broken record on the front catches his eye. He gives Jake a sincere hug around the middle, then ruins it by attempting to loudly initiate a rap-off.

Jake also has a birthday cake, to which Bro responds with a disapproving growl. Dave, however, seems to love it, because he gets his fat nasty fingers in that strawberry frosting before Jake even has a chance to put it down.

When Jake ducks into Dave’s room to change into something more comfortable, you slip in behind him. Jake doesn’t even realize you’re there until you clear your throat. He’s already got his Santa costume off and is in nothing but a tank top and a pair of short shorts. When you make the noise, he jumps so hard you’re afraid he’s going to have a heart attack. He recovers, however, and turns to you.

“Dirk, I-”

“Why the change of heart?” you ask quietly, lifting one brow. “I thought you’d never show your face here again.”

Jake reaches up to rub the side of his neck and scratch at the stubble on his chin. He looks at anything in the room except for you.

“Well, er… I needed some time to think about stuff, chap,” Jake explains, shrugging helplessly.

“Two months?” you blurt. You’re trying not to sound hurt and betrayed, and it’s not going over so well.

Jake flops down on one of Dave’s milk crates and rests his elbows on his knees. When he lowers his head into his hands, guilt gnaws at your insides again.

“I’m still trying to process everything, Strider. I mean… golly, I don’t even know if I remember what happened, exactly.”

“No, it sounds like you remember everything,” you mumble. “You just don’t want to.”

“Do you still…?” Jake trails off, lifting his head to look at you. You pinch your lips together and clench your fists.

“Do I still what?” you ask. Your voice falters. You know exactly what he’s asking.

“Fancy me.”

You swallow hard and avert your eyes. It doesn’t matter; to him it still looks like you’re staring at him through cold, dark panes of black glass.

“I won’t if you don’t want me to,” you finally say. Jake frowns.

“Dirk, that’s not…” he whispers.

“There’s Jane to worry about, anyway. I do not wish to impose,” you say, not meaning to sound as bitter as you do. Jake frowns at that.

“Jane,” he echoes. “We aren’t discussing Jane right now.”

He sounds defensive of her and you instantly regret even bringing her up. You’re growing more and more flustered and irritated by the minute, and you can practically feel the coolkid mask melting off of your face.

“Why’d you bring up Jane?” Jake presses, his tone becoming solemn as he stares you down. You open your mouth to speak, close it again, then sort of give a sheepish half-shrug.

“It slipped out, man. It didn’t mean shit.”

Jake looks down for a moment, his brows pulled together as if he’s thinking extra hard. When he looks up again, he still looks puzzled.

“Wait… do you mean Jane fancies me, too?”

You scrunch up your face at him, not even bothering to open your mouth. His cheeks redden ever so slightly as he downcasts his eyes once more.

“…Oh,” he mumbles. “But… I never even told you about Jane. How do you…?”

“My best friend’s mom knows her,” you answer. Your voice is nearly inaudible now, but Jake is accustomed to it. He wrings his hands and shakes his head.

“I’m not going to sit here and tell you how to feel, mate,” Jake sighs, removing his glasses so he can rub his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “I just can’t, in a right mind-”

“Date another man?” you mutter, bristling. Jake pauses, parting his lips as if he’s going to say something.

“…No,” he finally says, shaking his head. He’s not looking you in the eye. “I can’t, in a right mind, date a minor. The younger brother of my best pal at that.”

Your blood runs ice cold. Of course. You may be fair, intelligent, and perhaps even attractive, but you’re still young. You’re still a child to him.

“I’m so sorry,” he says like it’s something he can control. He _sounds_ sorry, too, which softens your hardened eyes.

“If I waited until I was eighteen, would it make a difference?” you ask without much thought. Jake snaps his gaze up to you, eyes wide and lips parted as if you had just announced that you were going to steal the Declaration of Independence.

You’re about to tell him that you were kidding, that it was simply a fleeting, wishful thought, but Jake doesn’t make a sound. He closes his mouth and you can practically _see_ the gears of his brain working again.

But then that expression fades and he shakes his head a little, looking down again.

“This is so much more complicated than whether you’re seventeen or eighteen,” Jake explains, gesturing weakly and staring at his hands while he does it. “This is about you being a… a strapping young man with a _future_ and experiences to be had and I’m-”

“You’re only _twenty-three_ ,” you interrupt in a voice that would be labeled as ‘fierce’ to a Strider. Jake doesn’t seem to feel the true weight of your statement.

“And I’ve seen the whole world, gone to college, gotten my license, I have a nice house, a woman who’s in love with me-” he lists, counting on his fingers and getting louder and louder as he speaks. When he mentions a woman, his voice cuts out and he vehemently reaches up to scratch his neck and hairline as if a mosquito is biting him. He finally looks up at the ceiling and heaves a sigh. “I’m not going to take that away from you. I am a gentleman, and I have morals to follow. You don’t know what you want.”

“Don’t tell me how to feel,” you snarl. Jake visibly cringes at the tone of your voice, which is hauntingly reminiscent of Bro’s.

Jake opens his mouth to say something more when the door flies open out of nowhere. Jake jumps up from the milk crate and you look over your shoulder. It’s Bro, and although you can’t see his eyes, you know he senses that _something’s_ going on.

“Something wrong?” he asks shortly. He moves his head like he’s looking back and forth between you and Jake, but you know for a fact that his eyes are on you and you only.

“Ah, nothing wrong here, Strider!” Jake exclaims, going to Bro and clapping him on the shoulder. “How about we crack open a beer, for old time’s sake? What say you?”

“…Sure,” Bro says hesitantly. He gives you one last look before turning away.

“I’ll join you in a moment, my friend!” Jake says cheerfully. “I’ve got to pull something presentable on.”

As soon as the door is shut, he whirls around and grabs you by the shoulders.

“There’s more I need to explain to you,” he says lowly. “But not here. Come visit me again and we can speak in solitude.”

Not even his goofily fancy words can manage to melt away the anger that has settled over you like molten steel. You tighten your lips at him. Jake can’t seem to pick up on it, so you finally reach up and flip up your shades and set them on the top of your head.

“Oh _bugger_ you’re really pissed,” he groans. “Strider, I promise I can explain if you’d just trust me.”

“Dave really missed your ass, you know,” you say loudly in an accusing voice.

“Shh- _hh-hh_ ,” Jake splutters, putting his finger over your lips and glancing over his shoulder at the slightly-ajar door. You glare up at him. “Dirk. I can make it right, just… _trust_ me, blast it!”

His hand moves from your lips to your cheek. He brushes a lock of hair away from your face. For a split second, he’s caressing you and you swear you see a brief spark of longing in his eyes.

“My favorite type of candy is those little orange wedges with the sugar on them,” you finally announce. Jake cocks his head at you like a confused dog. You narrow your eyes at him.

“Oh… oh!” he gasps. “The… the uh… the gummy things?”

He takes his hand away from your face and you almost want to cry over the loss of the warmth there. Jake holds his fingers apart to estimate the rough size of one of the candies.

“Yes? Those are your favorite?” he asks excitedly. You nod once. “I’ll get them. I’ll have that at my house! Will you come over so I can explain, then?”

“We’ll see,” you reply. “Not today. I’m staying for Dave’s birthday.”

“That’s okay,” Jake sighs. His hand returns to your cheek, and he actually cups your face in both hands for a second. He gives you a pleading smile, then releases you and leaves the bedroom.

You stand there, alone, in stone cold silence for a few moments. You have an uncontrollable urge to call up Roxy and flip right off the fucking handle, but you also want to talk to Dave. Or, God damn it, _Bro_ of all people.

For once, you truly don’t know how to feel and it unsettles you, rattles you down to your core. _You_ are the conductor of this crazy train to disaster; _you_ need to know what the hell’s going on. You are _fuck_ deep in the caboose, and your train’s heading straight for a broken bridge over Fuckville, Fuckifornia.

Before long, Dave comes in with his arms full of his sweet birthday loot. He spots you, gives you a curious look, but then moves on. He sets his shit down on the floor, and then bounds around throwing all of his stuff on the empty shelves that you and Bro built for him years ago. They’ve never been full before, and Dave looks pretty damn excited by it. When he’s finished, he looks over his work with a contented smirk. He looks to you, perhaps looking for your own feedback, and you give him a very slight inclination of your head and a thumbs-up.

“Sup,” he says, nodding to you. You grunt absentmindedly back at him and move your shades back down so they cover your eyes. “Did you get a chance to talk to Tall, Dark, and Hairy? He already left, seemed kinda bummed that you weren’t around to say goodbye.”

“Yeah, I talked to him,” you sigh, shrugging a bit. “Shit’s fucked up, li’l man.”

“Oh, man,” Dave says, turning from you to go to one of his high shelves over his bed (recliner chair). He clambers up onto the recliner and reaches up to retrieve one of his weird jarred creatures. Once he’s got it, he flops down in the chair and begins polishing the glass. “Well? Spill the beans, what happened?”

“He wants me to go talk to him at his house,” you explain. “Alone.”

Dave presses the tip of his tongue to his upper lip as he surveys his cleaning job. You’re just beginning to think that he doesn’t care when he finally looks at you with a completely straight face.

“Alone, huh? Alright then, what else? You nervous or somethin’?” he asks, shrugging. “I don’t see the big huge dealio, bro.”

“I don’t know,” you say. You cross your arms and shake your head a little, looking up at the ceiling. “I just don’t know.”

“You pissed at him?”

“No.”

“You’re _totally_ pissed, man.”

“And _you’re_ not?” you ask heatedly, whipping your head to Dave and staring him down through your shades. “English didn’t show up for two months and he calls us his friends!”

“Dude, of course I was a little bummed by it, but I’m not fucking _pissed_ about it,” Dave laughs, shaking his head at you. “You’re forgetting that I don’t want to do the naked tango with him.”

You groan and run an irritated hand through your hair.

“God, this is so fucking stupid. I don’t even care.”

“You unironically care so much I’m almost disgusted,” Dave scoffs. You look at him, and he’s lying sideways in his recliner with his feet kicked up into the air and his head hanging over the armrest. He looks back at you and smirks a bit. “You’re seriously taking this a lot harder than necessary, man.”

You just shake your head and look away.

“I’m just frustrated, is all,” you mutter. You’re both silent for a few long minutes, save for the swishing sound of cloth over dusty glass.

“He left us all Christmas presents, too,” Dave says after a while. You perk up and look over at him once more.

“Yeah?”

“Yup. And if I counted correctly, you got the most,” he says. You grimace.

“You were counting?”

“Problem with that?”

“You’re a dork,” you snort. Dave doesn’t even look up at you as he flashes the middle finger. The muscles in your face strain to pull your lips up into a smile, but you find yourself frowning again at the thought of Jake. “Hey, I’m going to go up on the roof for a bit. Want to come with me?”

“Hell no,” Dave practically hisses, giving you an expression that makes it seem like you had just punted an infant out a window. “It’s cold as balls out there. My dick would shrivel up.”

“It’s, like, sixty out there!” you exclaim. “It’s not even snowing!”

“Thank God for that, the last thing I want is a fucking blizzard all up in here-”

“A _blizzard_ in _Texas_.”

“It could happen! They close down every damn school if even one snowflake is spotted, like, ‘sir, you better get down here, I think I just spotted a pebble of snow over the Gulf’, ‘what that’s impossible!’, ‘yep better close down every school just in case we’re assaulted by _planet fucking Neptune_ ’,” Dave mimicks, deepening his voice and puffing up his chest.

“You are such a dramatic little asshole. And you’ve used that lame joke before!” you snap. Dave flaps his jaw and curls his lips as you speak, mocking you.

“And you are forgetting my immunity to insults on my birthday,” Dave counters.

“Just shut up.”

“You’re just mad because I’m right.”

“Dave, I’ll fucking kill you.”

“Where’s your Christmas cheer?”

“ _Dude!_ ”

“Where’s that smart mouth of yours now oh shit _fuck_ ,” Dave gasps as you drop into a sprinting stance and lunge at him like a wild animal. He flies out of his chair, gripping his weird jar thing to his chest, then takes off with a gallop. You chase him out of the bedroom, always just an inch behind. Down the hall the two of you go, Dave shouting for Bro and your lips pulled into a thin, straight line. You know what’s going to happen next even before it does, but you don’t stop running anyway. It’s your brother, after all, and you are required to give him his birthday ass kick.

But of course, that doesn’t happen, because Bro swoops in out of nowhere and suddenly both of you are snagged in his grasp. Dave’s giggling like a madman, his glasses halfway knocked out of place, and you’re breathing hard through your nose because you’re pissed for literally no reason other than the fact that Dave’s your bro and it’s okay to kick the shit out of him because you’re older.

“What the fuck,” Bro says, and it’s more of a statement than a question. He’s got you both by the scruffs of your necks, squeezing hard enough to prevent any more wild chasing but not hard enough to bruise.

“Dirk’s chasing me and I don’t know why,” Dave says, shrugging his shoulders.

“That’s bullshit!” you bark back.

“Fuckin’ _relax!_ ” Bro shouts over you. Your hunched shoulders drop and Bro releases both of you before crossing his arms. “What the hell happened?”

“I was just joking around, man, I didn’t-” Dave begins, and he’s still fighting back hysterical giggling. Your blood boils a little bit harder.

“Man, why you gotta rile up your fuckin’ bro?” Bro asks Dave. Dave sobers up a bit and shrugs.

“I thought we were just messing around, I didn’t know he was getting pissed.”

Bro turns to you.

“I was obviously getting irritated, I told him to stop like twice-”

“Did you even bother askin’ him nicely?” Bro interrupts. “Because sometimes you act like you’re the boss of him.”

“Well I-”

“Hey, you know who the boss of this house is?” Bro asks you, bending down a little and getting in your face. Your face flushes in embarrassment.

“…You.”

“Me!” Bro shouts in your face anyway, and you jump ever so slightly. He turns to Dave and gets in _his_ face. “Just because it’s your birthday doesn’t mean you can rile up your brother, got that?”

“Sorry, man, I-”

“Sorry, you’re _allll_ ways sorry. I don’t wanna fuckin’ hear sorry, I want to hear ‘okay, Bro’.”

“Okay, Bro.”

Bro straightens.

“This is not the kind of shit that I want to go down so close to Christmas. I don’t know what your fuckin’ problems are, but I don’t want you two fuckin’ up my time off from work. This is the only time I get to see you two, and if you’re always fighting over stupid shit, then I don’t _want_ to be here, a’ight?”

“I’m going to the roof,” you snarl under your breath, trying to push past Bro.

“I’m not done with you yet,” Bro says, catching you by the shoulder. You wrench your shoulder out of his grip as if he had just burned you.

“Leave me alone,” you mumble, eyebrows furrowing over your glasses. Bro searches your shaded eyes for a second, realizes that something else is wrong, then frowns at you. When he doesn’t try to stop you a second time, you turn away and go to the apartment door. You stuff your feet into your shitty sneakers, not even bothering to pull the backs of the shoes out from under your heels. Once you’re out the door, you head straight for the stairs. You don’t feel like taking the elevator; if you stop moving for even a moment, you might think too hard and be an emotional train wreck for the rest of the night. You don’t even flashstep up the stairs, you walk. Luckily, your floor is close to the top, so you only have to go up two before you’re there.

You regret not bringing a jacket the second you’re outside. There’s a chilly breeze coming in from the north, and you’re fairly certain that it’s well under sixty degrees, maybe fifty-two, tops. You ignore the cold and go to the wall so you can look over the edge at the glowing lights below. There’s nothing new to see there, so you turn your gaze up to the nighttime sky. There’s nothing there except hazy darkness. The only light you can see is the half-moon, which doesn’t offer any sort of comfort to your troubled heart.

With a sigh, you hop up onto the wall and swing your legs over so they’re dangling over the street below. You tap your heels against the brick wall and slouch to the point where you’re about to fall off the edge. Briefly, you ponder that. Falling over the edge. Perhaps tumbling, _tumbling_ , crash-landing below in a brilliant flurry of red, white, and feelings.

But that would be the easy way out, wouldn’t it?

You take off your shades and rub your eyes with your thumb and forefinger, grimacing at how soft and puffy they feel. You haven’t been sleeping well, and you don’t know if it’s because of Jake not being around or Bro not being around or both. Both situations have you driven straight up a wall to the point of near-insanity, but it’s not like you can just lose it. You have to be there for Dave, after all.

God fucking _dammit_ , it’s cold.

Just as you’re beginning to suspect that even your eyeballs are getting goosebumps, something thick and warm is draped over your shoulders - a coat. It’s so sudden that you jump in surprise, nearly losing your balance on the wall. A pair of heavy hands on your shoulders keeps you from dropping off of the edge of the building.

“You’re gettin’ rusty in your awareness. Jumpy lately, huh.”

You’re silent as you slip your arms into the sleeves of the coat, which is entirely _way too fucking big_ on you. You pull the flaps together and sit there, hunched over, feeling just as miserable as you look.

Bro comes up beside you and perches on the wall as well, except he sits in the opposite direction and ignores you for the most part. You can, however, feel the ever so slight brush of his upper arm against your shoulder. Your fingers tighten on your shades in your hands.

“What’s on your mind, kid?” he asks in that low, rumbling voice of his. It’s nonchalant in the way it’s delivered, but you know it’s heartfelt because he came looking for you and offered his peace treaty with the coat. When a Strider brings a Strider a coat, it’s serious fucking business.

“I’m not really in the mood to discuss it,” you say, and you use your most solemn tone to tell him. Bro is quiet for a moment.

“Is it a chick?”

You’re unable to stop yourself from tensing up. Bro feels it and finally turns to look at you.

“What, you’re havin’ some troubles getting your hands on some condoms or… you’ve got herpes or you got her pregnant or what?” Bro asks. You recoil from him in disgust, lips curling back.

“ _No!_ ” you exclaim. You catch yourself, clear your throat, and look down. “Fuck no. It’s nothing like that.”

“…Wait, she doesn’t like you back?”

“Bro, dude…”

“Holy shit. Never thought a Strider would have _that_ problem. Bitches be swoonin’ at the sight of us.”

He’s trying too hard to be understanding and you both know it. You think it’s some sort of midlife crisis thing; the guy’s turning thirty in a couple months and he doesn’t want to accept that. Can’t face the fact that it’s getting harder for him to get out of bed in the morning with each passing year and that he unironically enjoys Special K cereal and golf tournaments on the television.

“I don’t know if that’s the problem yet,” you admit with a shrug. “Uh… sh-she’s a few years older than me.”

Bro lets out a laugh, a big guffaw of a laugh, then raises his fist for a bump. You frown and fistbump him before returning your shadeless gaze to your lap.

“So you’re into older women, huh. Yeah, I can see where you might be a bit self conscious there. I understand.”

“…Did you used to date older women?” you ask, intending for it to just be a passive question. Bro’s smile, however, fades. He kind of chuckles a bit before tilting his head back to look at the sky.

“Used to.”

“Not anymore?”

Bro just kinda moves his head back and forth, cracks his neck, then purses his lips in thought.

“Nah, not really, li’l man. I don’t really have time to deal with a woman right now. Priorities, y’know?”

A ghost of a nostalgic smile appears on Bro’s face as he absently adjusts his cap.

“Back in high school I dated some senior broad with an attitude. I was a freshie, mind you. She was real easy on the eyes, nice hips, nice rack, soft hair. She had brown eyes and a chocolate-sweet personality to match. Well, there was a bit of sass to her and she’d kick your ass straight to the moon if you weren’t careful. We dated for a bit, broke it off when she left for college, though.”

He nods, contented with his description of her, then slowly frowns again.

“Then… the summer between my sophomore and junior year, I met another woman. Had a kid already. Just a little baby, nothing more. Single mom. Really unheard of, me being a minor and her being this twenty-four year old woman. Hooked up after I chased off some assholes harassing her as she was leaving the drug store. Walked her home, she let me in and gave me somethin’ to eat. Exchanged phone numbers and that was that. I wasn’t expecting nothin’, just… saw a lady in need of assistance and I just dove headfirst into it, not givin’ a fuck if I was gonna get hurt or get my ass handed to me on a silver platter.”

Bro sighs.

“…Then shit happened and…” he trails off and doesn’t finish. “Well, I didn’t want to impose, or make it seem like I was only with her for the money, because she was all about givin’ us cash and a place to stay… but I couldn’t. Couldn’t let our misfortunes get in the way of another person’s life.”

You gaze at Bro, who just frowns and stares blankly off into the distance. Then he shakes his head, shrugs, and itches his neck.

“But that was then and this is now. I suppose that doesn’t help much, sorry for gettin’ off topic.”

“It’s fine, but… why’d you give all of that up? Couldn’t you have just refused her offers?” you ask. Bro snorts.

“You see how Jake sneaks you kids a bunch of candy and shit. Pretends to give you birthday and Christmas presents when he’s really just trying to run a charity. She would’ve found a way to help us, too,” Bro argues. Then, he sighs again and grins a bit. “I was in love, but sometimes you have’ta realize there’s more important things to worry about. Things like family. Like you and Dave.”

He gives you a meaningful look with his final words, searching your pupils and rendering you unable to look away.

“You’ll have that burden too, li’l man. When I go overseas. You’ll have to take care of Dave for me while I’m gone. It’s gonna be hard, but I’m goin’ta get you two outta here. Out into the country. Gonna get you two in college, get you into steady jobs… you’ll have a chance for a better life,” Bro says wistfully. Then, he takes a breath and looks over at you again with a smile. “So, point is, don’t put all your eggs in one basket, kid. You have your whole life ahead of you. Don’t get caught up on one class-D bitch. There will be plenty of chances for love, for work, for anythin’ you want. You’re a good kid. You’re gonna go far.”

When you don’t answer, Bro reaches up and ruffles up your hair before tipping his head forward to gently bump it against your forehead.

“Take it from the guy who actually fuckin’ stuck around to watch you grow.”

You swallow and nod.

“Okay.”

Bro smiles, contented, and leans back. He pats you on the shoulder.

“That’s not to say you shouldn’t live your life now. Fight hard, fuck hard, live hard. You don’t have time to sit around mopin’ and bitchin’. Gotta keep stridin’.”

You snort.

“I see what you did there,” you mumble with a little smirk. Bro laughs, pats your cheek, and ruffles your hair again.

“You sure as hell did, you little shit,” he play-growls, giving you a noogie. You shove him away in protest and laugh at him. When you both have settled down, you just sit there listening to the city sounds hundreds of feet below.

“Hey, Bro?” you ask tentatively.

“Mm?” he grunts. You fiddle with the jacket of your zipper and look down.

“…Hypothetically speaking, what would you say if either me or Dave were like… gay… or something,” you ask, faltering a bit at the end. Bro is silent for a long time, his face expressionless. You’re so anxious that you feel like you’re going to hurl.  

“Uhh…” Bro trails off. He takes off his cap and scratches his hair. “Hypothetically speaking?”

“Yeah.”

“Well…” he begins, puffing up his cheeks. “I don’t know. I’d probably be a little disappointed, y’know? Or shocked, really?”

You don’t say anything.

“I don’t know, I mean, I can’t make your choices for you. If either you or Dave decided to live that lifestyle, well… I guess it’d suck and I’d probably hate it but I wouldn’t kick either of you out or anythin’. Does that make sense?”

You nod once and swallow hard against the rock lodged in your throat.

“Yeah. It makes sense.”

“Why do you ask, anyway?”

“Friend at school. Her parents kicked her ass out onto the curb when she came out as lesbian. So. Yeah,” you lie. You wring your hands, which are sweating bullets. Bro whistles.

“Wow. Shit, man. That sucks.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t go that far but… man, you gotta think about the families, y’know? That’s a pretty big load to drop on them.”

“…Bro, it’s not a choice. Uh… for her, I mean. She was like that since like… forever.”

“Still. Feel kinda bad for her parents.”

You close your eyes and gnaw the inside of your lip.

“I guess,” you say. “…Sure.”

“…Welp,” Bro says, clapping his hands together. “You coming inside soon? I don’t want you sleepin’ in all day tomorrow. We’ve got a marathon of Christmas shit to watch.”

“Yeah. A couple more minutes,” you say. Bro nods and pats you on the back.

“Awesome.”

With that, he turns and leaves you. You sit there for a few moments, thinking, before you put your head in your hands and squeeze.

“God fucking _damn_ it all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> P.S.: You can follow me on tumblr for more information about ALBSTRI, specifically announcements on POTENTIAL DELAYS. My url is http://stridemother.tumblr.com. If you want to omit all of my crazy bullshit, you don't have to follow me, but you can track the #ALBSTRI tag for all of the information you need! Thanks!!


	8. Chapter 8

Christmas comes and goes. It's the best Christmas you've ever had, because Jake's gifts are fucking sweet. You've already gotten another new set of clothes, coats, jackets, and other daily essentials. You even get a Christmas stocking, and inside of it is a bottomless pit of candy, trinkets, and a brand new toothbrush.

You've never seen Dave so overjoyed before. His shades are off and his scarlet eyes are flashing with excitement as he pops a chocolate coin in his mouth and digs in the pile for more of his gifts. You're so happy for him, so utterly enraptured by the sight of your kid brother actually being a _kid_ for once, you forget about your own gifts.

That is, until Bro gently reminds you to keep opening stuff by nudging your hip with his toe. When you look over, you see him holding a freshly unwrapped iPhone and already taking pictures of Dave with it.

Seconds later, your switch is flipped when you unwrap a brand new hand drill and a tool box.

"Holy shit," you breathe, half-tempted to pull the shiny new tools to your chest and hug the shit out of them. This is only until you catch Bro's iPhone on _you_ , taking pictures. You flush and turn your head away. Bro laughs at you.

Dave gets one of those really annoying remote control helicopters. He has it open within seconds, grabs the pack of AA batteries he got in his Christmas stocking, then powers up that shit in a flash. Before long, he's laughing his ass off as the toy helicopter zips around the room and around Bro's head and in your hair and up your nose and halfway up Bro's ass. Dave's almost shitting himself laughing until Bro whips his hand out, catches the helicopter by the tail, and tells Dave to keep opening presents before he smashes the thing.

Dave's more than happy to oblige, his daily quota of annoying the shit out of people filled.

He gets more toys, trinkets, and other forms of entertainment; you get gifts that are much more technical. You get packages upon packages of shiny nuts, bolts, and washers. You get rolls of paper for blueprints, a board for pinning stuff on, mounds of batteries, and a high-quality pair of safety glasses to replace your old pair.

Your favorite gift, which you hide from Bro and Dave in a box, is a complete set of Hayao Miyazaki films, which includes some of your all-time favorite anime movies, _Spirited Away_ and _My Neighbor Totoro_. Along with it comes a folded-up note.

_Strider,_

_These films were remarkable! I dare say that they are now some of my new favorites and i cant wait to see them again! My personal favorite was howl's moving castle. There was just so much remarkable adventure and grand ol times to be had! We must sit down together and watch these sometime._

_Sincerely,_

_Your friendly neighborhood santa claus *double pistols and a wink*  
_

You smile down at the note, smoothing out the creases in the paper as you read. When you finish, you fold up the note and carefully tuck it into your pocket. Next, you put as many of your gifts in the anime movie box as possible and wait for Dave to finish.

When Dave's done gushing about the gifts he got, he turns to Bro and grins from ear to ear. Bro takes another picture, then laughs and flashes the middle finger when Dave starts posing for the camera with peace signs and duck lips.

That's when you notice Bro's very, very small pile of wrapping paper.

"You didn't get a lot of loot," you comment. Bro glances at his laptop and his phone.

"Uh, I think I got plenty of loot, li'l man. Just look at this expensive shit."

"But we got a ton more," you continue, starting to feel a little guilty. Bro groans and rolls his eyes.

"Fine, spoil the surprise," Bro says. He clears his throat like he's got an announcement to make. "The reason I don't have very much is because English is saving up for my birthday. After a shit ton of arguing, biting, scratching, and punching, I agreed with his plan."

"What plan?" "Plan?" you and Dave ask simultaneously. Bro pauses for an extra long time for dramatic effect. He gives when Dave lets out an impatient whine.

"We agreed that, on my birthday, he will be buying me new DJ equipment. And I'm talkin' the big guns, baby. We've already checked her out online. She's _beautiful_."

"Does that mean…?" Dave trails off suggestively. Bro grins.

"You get your equipment back, buddy. Merry Christmas."

Before Bro has a chance to even finish his sentence, Dave wordlessly jumps to his feet and lunges at Bro, throwing his arms around his neck and making them both fall back on the futon. Bro's cap is knocked right off his head and flops to the ground, but he doesn't seem to mind. He takes off his shades and clenches them in his fist as he holds Dave against him.

Dave mumbles something that makes Bro's eyebrows come together and his face contort a little.

"Yeah. Love you too, li'l man," he murmurs, cradling the back of Dave's neck in his hand and smoothing his feathered hair.

You smile lightly to yourself and look down at your hands. The relationship between those two will never fail to give you a warm feeling in your gut. Feeling as if they're a bit inappropriate for the circumstance, you slip your shades off and fold them neatly before setting them aside.

"Dirk, get your scrawny ass over here you fuckin' dillhole. It's Christmas," Bro suddenly commands. You look up to see his outstretched arm. Dave is under one arm on one side, and he's unabashedly snuggled up against Bro's chest.

"Do I have to?" you ask, curling your lip. Bro gives you a look, and you begrudgingly haul yourself to your feet with a groan. You approach Bro and Dave, then allow Bro to take you in by the waist and pull you down onto the futon so you can rest under his arm on his free side.

Striders aren't really into cuddling. Well, Dave and Bro never were, anyway. Back when you were young, Dave used to come into your room and sleep with you when Bro was away because he was scared, but that passed a long time ago. That's why you're mildly alarmed when you feel Bro's fingertips stroking up and down the center of your back, pausing to scratch here and there and reducing you to putty in his arms.

"Shit, you two are gettin' so fuckin' huge," Bro chuckles. "I can't believe it. It feels like only a week ago that I was still trying to figure out to hold a baby right and feed the little shit with a bottle."

Bro smacks Dave's head very lightly, which makes him grin.

"Dave Motherfucking Strider, not giving a shit since I was a cute little turd straight from the bowels of heaven's highest clouds."

You stay silent but you smirk anyway. All three of you just sit there for a second, thinking to yourselves. You're listening to Bro's breathing patterns as they speed up and slow down, as if he's trying to put something into words.

"…I know…" he begins. Pause. "I know that… I sometimes come across like I don't give a shit, or that I don't care about you guys."

You and Dave look at each other.

"But I just want you fuckers to know that I love the shit out of you and I would do _anything_ -"

Bro's voice breaks. He reaches up and grasps both of your heads. He holds you both tightly to his body, fingers shakily combing through your hair.

"I know I probably look like a complete fuckin' failure, not being able to provide you with the shit that you want, needin' all this… all this help from some stupid shit of a kid, and…" Bro stammers. His fingers tighten on your head. "It was gettin' so rough there, I was so…"

His voice hitches and you feel something warm and wet drip into your hair. Dave looks at you with wide eyes like he doesn't know what's going on, but you just lean into Bro and let him hold you close.

"I was so fuckin' scared that we were gonna get separated, and all that… watchin' you two grow up… and the thought of you two being… bein' taken aw-"

He can't finish. He knots his fingers in your hair and holds you to the point of almost hurting you.

He's done this once before. Spilling his emotional guts out to you and Dave in a setting like this. Last time, it wasn't so great of an experience. Last time, he had yanked you and Dave out of the closet where he had hidden you two when a concerned neighbor and her husband came in looking for 'the source of all the yelling'.

You vividly remember the sound of pounding footsteps, the broken sobs of a broken man, the tumblers of the locked door moving around, and the thump of knees falling to the floor. Hiccupping almost hysterically, Bro had violently ripped you and infant Dave out of the closet. He had held you both close to him, the sound of him falling to pieces and Dave wailing drowning out the sound of you having an asthma attack.

The asthma attack hadn't been triggered by the dust in the closet. Rather, it had been triggered by the terror of seeing the only rock in your life crumbling into bits at your feet. There was Bro, a shell of his former self, eighteen years old with _no fucking clue_ as to what he was doing.

Bro couldn't even hold your inhaler for you that day. After all, it had been the first time that he had come unglued after your parents walked out. The three of you just sat there, you on the floor with your little inhaler, Bro on his knees in front of you, and a crying infant in his inexperienced arms.

It was a traumatic experience to say the least. It's kind of difficult to remove the image of your eldest brother sobbing and praying to God for his baby brother to shut up and stop crying, chanting the same phrases over and over:

_Help me._

_I don't know how to do this._

_I can't handle this._

_How do I do this?_

_I can't do this._

_Help me._

But like all traumatic experiences, that passed and life moved on.

…Right to the present, where Bro is still holding you and Dave. He's not having a breakdown, at least not in the eyes of a normal person. In the Strider household… eh, yeah, he's sort of coming unglued right now. But it's nowhere near as bad as the first time. It's just Bro planting long kisses to the top of your heads, a few warm teardrops hitting your scalp, the occasional shaky sigh.

He's a scarred man who has been broken and put back together a few times too many. You believe that, as far as he's concerned, there are only two things for him to live for.

You.

Dave.

That's it.

"I'm sorry," Bro whispers against the top of Dave's head. "I'm sorry your lives ended up like this."

"I'm only fifteen, _God_ ," Dave mutters, patting Bro's chest. "Cut the dramatics, douchelord. I'm gonna be a famous fucking movie director by making shitty Adam Sandler-level movies and I'm gonna swim in cold hard cash. Just wait, man. Gonna set you up for retirement for when you're an old senile fart. I'll buy you all the bedpans you'll ever need."

Bro's breathing stops for a split second before he lets out a loud laugh and teasingly yanks on Dave's hair.

"Ha! Alright, li'l man. I'm looking forward to it," Bro says.

"You didn't fuck up anything," you add quietly. Bro looks at you, his eyes still a bit glassy and red. You just give him an encouraging twitch of your lips.

A slow smile grows on Bro's face. He ruffles your hair.

"I'll take your word for it."

"Now can we stop being a bunch of assholes crying on a couch?" Dave asks suddenly. "I'm hungry for some fucking cinnamon rolls."

"Oh right! Sorry, li'l dude, I totally forgot about that. Let's go make that shit right now."

"Yessss," Dave hisses, jumping up from the futon and bouncing slightly as he drags Bro to his feet. "How much frosting do we have?"

"I got shit to make it from scratch. Enough for _two_ batches of cinnamon rolls," Bro says proudly. Dave whoops and hollers and does a fucking cartwheel, a literal _cartwheel_ , into the kitchen.

"I could kiss you, man. Will you let me lick the bowl?"

"Only if you let me get a lick first."

"A lick of me or the bowl, hot stuff?"

You can still hear their bantering from the kitchen, and by the subsequent shuffling sound and the 'oomph', you can infer that Dave just hip-checked Bro. Which only means that… oh yes, there it is.

The sound of Dave getting shoved to the floor.

"I meant the _bowl_ , you fuckin' retard."

Laughing. General happiness.

Still on the couch, you bring your legs up to your chest and smile into your knees.

_Fight hard, fuck hard, live hard._

Those words ring in your head as you dig Jake's Christmas note out of your pocket and unfold it a second time.

* * *

"What the shit are you doing?"

"Holy fucking hell," you breathe as your eyelids flutter in surprise. You turn around to see Dave, who's standing in the doorway of your room with his blanket still wrapped around his shoulders. He's bumping his shades out of the way as he rubs his eyes with his balled fist. He's in his new flannel pajamas Jake got him for Christmas, the maroon ones with the big scarlet gear on the chest.

You have just been caught holding up shirts in front of your dirty old mirror. One, your white t-shirt with the orange cap. The other, a turtleneck.

"God. I don't even fucking know," you finally respond, drooping and letting your arms flop down to your sides.

"Are you going to go to Jake's?" Dave asks, shuffling in and crawling up into your bed. He snuggles into his blanket and gets this really content look on his face, like a kitten discovering a ray of sunlight coming in through a window.

"…Yes," you say hesitantly. You hold up the shirts again. "Yeah."

"And you're having a fashion crisis."

"Look," you say, scowling and dropping your arms once more. "Do you want to be in here with me or not? Because the chance of me kicking your pasty ass straight out the window right now is a big meaty ninety-nine percent."

Dave snorts and lies down on your bed.

"Fine, bro. Whatever. But you're really going at ten in the morning on _New Year's Eve_? English is probably still sleepin', charging up for a big day of shaking his ass and drinking and sicknasty shenanigans."

"It seems you're forgetting that your sleeping schedule is not the same as everyone else's," you mutter, finally selecting your white shirt with the orange cap for your outfit.

"I like sleeping," Dave murmurs. You look over at him and his eyes are shut as he curls up on your bed. Your gaze softens.

"I'm going to ask Bro if we can invest in a bed for you. Fifteen years old means holy shit, you need to actually get a good night's sleep."

Dave opens his eyes a crack as you toss your shirt onto the edge of the bed and reach over your head to yank off your own flannel pajamas..

"Man, you're going to freeze your tits off out there. Don't go," Dave says sleepily. You look down at Dave, who's already starting to doze again. A pang of guilt hits you out of nowhere.

The night before, Bro had a surprise call-in from the night club saying the replacement DJ had gotten sick, and that Bro would be paid handsomely if he came in for New Year's night. The whole Strider family was onboard, of course. Bro was getting a little tired of the stupid toy helicopter buzzing around, and he had claimed his hands were getting restless that night. He took the gig.

Today, he's already down at the club, helping get set up for tonight's gig. He'll be out all day and night, which gives you the perfect opportunity to go over to Jake's. Or… maybe.

When you look down at Dave, sleeping awkwardly with his shades still on, your toes curl against the carpet and your teeth grind in your mouth. You can't just leave Dave here alone all day. He gets lonely and you…

And you…

You have priorities.

Letting out a small sigh, you kneel next to the bed and gently shake Dave's shoulder. He awakes with a start and looks blearily up at you.

"Want to come with me to Jake's house?" you ask quietly. Dave doesn't have the energy in him to say something snarky or jump for joy or anything, so he just bobs his head once in affirmation and slumps again, passing out once more. You just smile and slip Dave's shades off for him, carefully folding them and setting them beside his relaxed hand on the mattress.

With that, you go and you take an extra long, extra hot shower. You scrub yourself down from the top of your head to the tips of your toes, using plenty of the fancy body wash that came in your Christmas stocking.

By the time you're finished, your fingertips are pruned up with moisture and your pale skin is pink with the heat. You step out of the shower and briefly towel off your body before grabbing another towel to quickly dry your hair. When your post-shower ritual is complete, you go back to your room to find Dave completely immersed in a pile of blankets, pillows, and sheets. The only part of him that you can see is his toes, which poke out from underneath the edge of your blanket.

"Hey. Dave. Buddy," you say, leaning down to yank his big toe. Dave awakes with a yelp, wrenching his foot away from you as if your fingers are on fire. You just snort. "Get up and go get dressed. If you're not ready by the time I am, I'm leaving without you."

"It's too _cold_ ," Dave whines. "I just cut my finger on my nipple, man."

You roll your eyes, drop your towel from your waist, and go to the little pile of clothes you had set up on the edge of your bed earlier. You pull up a fresh pair of boxers and your favorite black skinny jeans. It's pretty difficult to get the fuckers up and over your ass cheeks, so you start wriggling to ease them up your thighs.

"Why do you always wear fuckin' skinnies, man?" Dave asks out of nowhere. You pause your crazy wiggle/dance/pelvic thrusting and look over your shoulder at your little assclown of a brother, who is peering back at you with one brow arched over the rim of his shades. "Seriously. I don't want to see you perform your weird pants dance."

"Then go get ready, mother _fucker_ ," you hiss in your most malicious voice, baring your teeth. Dave groans and slides out of your bed and onto the floor, then proceeds to drag his body across the carpet. The blankets are still tangled around his calves, so they also end up on the floor.

Once Dave is gone, you manage to pull your jeans up all the way. They fit snugly on you now. As you look in the mirror, you can't help but to admire your body, which has filled out to the point of you looking like an actual human now rather than look like death. You're still thin as all hell, scarily thin even, but at least you're not about to crumble into dust.

You reach for your white t-shirt with the orange cap, but your hand falters for a moment. Should you _seriously_ dress nicely just for Jake's house?

You swallow the embarrassment and grab the turtleneck sweater you had earlier. It's white. It's nice. It holds a bit of the 'holiday cheer' look you're going for. You feel like a moron for getting so caught up in this nonsense, but you yank the sweater over your head anyway.

You style your hair in the bathroom next with the family's trusty ol' blow-dryer. It's basically an antique and you're pretty sure it's going to electrocute someone someday, but it's nice. Once your hair has been blow-dried perfectly, you put in a dollop of hair gel, masterfully style all the swoops and spikes and swirls of your hair, and tah-dah. Instant sexy Strider.

Dave appears in the doorway, his hair still wild from his shitty night's sleep and his face a bit grungy.

"You've got a zit on your chin, man," you comment. Dave stretches up on his tiptoes so he can look in the mirror, tips his head back, then reaches for his face. You scrunch up your face. "Oh no no man, no don't do tha-"

Dave squeezes the pimple on his chin and it pops quite messily (way too disgusting for description), leaving nothing behind but irritated red skin and a bit of bloody oil.

"You're absolutely revolting," you mutter out of the corner of your mouth, leaning in towards the mirror and carefully checking your face for blemishes. Dave scowls at you as he grabs his toothbrush.

"Yeah, and you keep tweezing those eyebrows, they're bound to get you hot makeouts with a sexy prince one of these days."

You shove Dave out of the mirror just before he puts his toothbrush in his mouth, making his brush jerk back and toothpaste smear on his jaw. He curses you out and you both end up having a huge argument over the bathroom mirror. It ends up with the plastic rinsing cup getting thrown at the wall and earning a huge crack down its side.

By the time Dave gets the toothbrush in his mouth, it's eleven in the morning and you're fairly certain you have a bruise on your upper arm. The argument is long over now, and you're both back to what you were doing before.

"Why are you so concerned about what you look like, anyway? Like seriously, nobody gives a shit," Dave comments after rinsing out his mouth and quickly running a wet comb through his hair. You awkwardly stand there in front of the mirror, adjusting your turtleneck for what feels like the fiftieth time.

"I _don't_ give a shit. I dress how I want," you mumble, but you kind of inwardly cringe at yourself. You swallow. "…Do you think I should wear the t-shirt?"

"Bro. _Man_ ," Dave sighs. "You gotta chill if you want to woo the bitches."

Dave reaches up and mashes his hand against your hair for a few seconds. When he's finished, you look in the mirror. You look significantly less stiff, and a lot more like yourself.

"Just go like that. It's English. Stupid, shitty English who has action figures in his bedroom and suspicious lip-shaped marks on his shitty movie posters," Dave encourages. "Could you imagine having sex in there? Could you imagine… _sex in a racecar bed?_ "

You whip your head towards Dave, your face warped into an appalled expression.

"He has a _racecar bed?_ "

"No," Dave scoffs. "But still! He's probably the dorkiest dork to ever dork this side of the hemisphere. Make way for the mayor of Dorkville, population _Jake motherfucking English!_ "

You slug Dave in the shoulder and roll your eyes, but again you find yourself laughing at the thought.

"Maybe I just have a thing for nerdy guys," you say. Dave grins, then bounds out of the bathroom.

"Well then, quit primping and let's go get your prince charming."

* * *

You don't even bother texting Jake that you're coming. With you being as nervous as you are, you're pretty much relying on the method of surprise at this point. If Jake's not prepared for you to show up, then you'll be the one with the advantage, not him.

You're not going to let yourself go in weak. Not this time.

You and Dave take the public bus. You let Dave take the last available seat and you are prepared to stand for the duration of the trip, but the second a pregnant woman climbs onboard, Dave wordlessly rises from his seat and takes his place standing up beside you.

He's getting taller every day.

It doesn't take long to get to Jake's apartment building. You and Dave go right in like you own the place, shaded eyes mutedly passing over the few heads bustling around the lobby. You both catch a few eyes, probably because you're two random, scruffy-looking douchebags wearing sunglasses indoors. You'd like to believe it's because you both look classy as fuck.

Classy like the dried toothpaste stuck to the corner of Dave's mouth.

You and Dave are silent in the hall, up the elevator, and all the way to Jake's door. It sounds way too loud to you when you rap your knuckles against the door. You hear some unintelligible noises from the inside, a small thump, and then laughing.

The door flies open to reveal a pink-faced Jake with a huge smile on his face. The moment he sees you, however, the mirth on his face plummets. His face pales, and his laughter dries up in his mouth until it's nothing but a feeble squeaking sound.

"Bad time for a visit?" you ask, deadpan. Dave stays quiet for once.

"Uh-" Jake begins.

"Who is it? A friend of yours?" a pleasant woman's voice interrupts. Jake squeezes his eyes shut for a brief moment, then moves aside.

An aqua-eyed woman with short, bobbed hair and a rounded face blinks at you. She's got a wine glass in her hand and she's all dolled up; a blue skirt and a white, ruffled blouse with a humbly made-up face.

"Jane?" you ask after a moment of stunned silence. Jane sort of cough-laughs, a smile on her face.

"Wh-" she begins, squinting and pointing a finger at you as if she recognizes you. Her smile widens. "Why, I'd recognize that voice anywhere!"

You step past Jake, who just looks at you strangely.

"Looking radiant as always, Crocker," you say warmly, outstretching your arms. Jane lets out a little excited squeal, sets her wine glass down on a nearby end table, and sweeps you up into a tight embrace.

"Oh my good golly gracious!" Jane exclaims, swinging you back and forth. She's quite a bit taller than you, so you get pretty much smothered by a face full of boobs. You take it in stride, deciding that struggling will just make your oxygen supply run out faster. Jane continues to coo over you. "It's been so _long!_ "

"It's good to see you too, Jane," you say once you resurface. You pull away from her and hold her by the elbows. "How are you?"

"Wonderful!" Jane replies. She leans forward and plants a big kiss on your cheek. "Oh, it's so great to see you again, I can hardly believe it!"

"Pardon, but," Jake begins from behind you. Both you and Jane look up to face him. He chuckles nervously. "You two uh… know each other?"

"Of course! I met Dirk through another friend of mine," Jane explains before getting right back to hugging you. In the middle of a particularly long cuddle, however, you suddenly hear a beeping sound. You and Jane pull away from each other so she can mouth an apology and reach into her purse, which is sitting on the couch. She grabs her phone and checks it.

"Meeting?" Jake asks. He sounds disappointed. You look over at him, silently observing. Dave walks up to stand beside you, also watching Jake.

"I'm afraid so," Jane sighs. "Shucks!"

"Hey, watch the language, Crockerdile. There are young ears in here."

Jane laughs at the old inside joke, then smiles apologetically.

"Well, I must run. You know how my Auntie gets," Jane says to Jake. She grabs her purse, then meets Jake at the door. He leans against the doorframe as she slips her dainty, nylon-clad feet into her high heels.

"Yeah. Will you be back in time for New Years tonight?" Jake asks, putting his hands in his pockets and looking up at Jane through his eyelashes with a bashful look on his face.

Your index finger twitches. Dave's head makes a subtle movement, almost like a shake of his head. You know he was just sneaking a glance at you to see your reaction.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world," Jane replies fondly, beaming up at Jake with that lovely smile of hers. "I'll try not to forget the cake this time."

"You… You better not!" Jake stammer-slash-jokes. His face gets a little pink. "I love your cakes, Jane."

Jane blushes, then looks down and tucks a lock of hair behind her ear.

You're dumbfounded by what you're seeing. Not because you're angry or upset or resentful. No, you find yourself filled to the brim with a sick feeling of utter guilt. Here these two are, lost in their own small world built for two.

And here you are. Seventeen and broke and inexperienced. Homewrecker. You're a dirty homewrecker.

"Alright then… farewell, Jake," Jane says with a posh vocabulary that she, no doubt, picked up from Jake. Jake raises his hand and weakly waves his fingers at her.

"Farewell."

With that, Jane leaves. The three of you are left alone in the room, and the silence that follows is almost frightening.

"Forgive me, Strider, I didn't know you were going to drop by today, or I would've…" Jake trails off, turning to you. You stare blankly back at him. His voice falters and he looks down. "Right. Hold on, I'll get you the uh… the orange g-gummy things."

As soon as Jake leaves, Dave nudges you in the ribs. You hiss in pain as his bony elbow digs into your skin.

"What was that for?" you snarl, jerking your body out of Dave's reach.

"You're not going to get anywhere by pouting," Dave whispers. "Man up."

"Are these what you were talking about?"

You and Dave look up as Jake re-enters the living room with a little plastic container of the orange candies. You swallow and nod once.

"Dreadfully sorry, I didn't have a clue that you were coming too, or I would've went out and got something for you," Jake apologizes to Dave, who only shrugs in response. Instead, he goes right up to Jake, opens the container while it's still in his hands, and scoops out a handful.

"Got an X-Box?" Dave asks around a mouthful of candy. Jake pauses, still registering what just happened.

"An X… oh! Yes, indeed. I _do_ have one of those doohickeys. Turn left out of the loo and go down the hall, you can't miss it."

Dave finishes the candy and nods.

"In that case, I'm out. But first, the shitter," he says, slightly muffled. "Peace."

He scoots out, and finally you and Jake are alone. You don't look at each other. It's tense and quiet and kind of frightening, frankly.

"Um… you wanna have a seat?" Jake asks after a while. You wordlessly go to the couch, your limbs locking up along the way. You should've worn the fucking t-shirt.

"So? What did you want to discuss?" you ask politely, sitting down on the couch and shutting your eyes as you reach up to take off your shades. Jake slowly lowers himself onto the couch beside you, sighing as he leans back.

"Dirk, I just…"

Jake doesn't finish and shies away from whatever he was going to say. You just exhale through your nose and count to ten in your head. You're losing your cool. All of it. Right down the drain. The candy resting on the coffee table looks tempting, but your mouth is too dry to even think about eating any of it.

You can see Jake flapping his lips out of the corner of your eye. He's trying to piece together something too big for even his own brain to comprehend. Poor fellow.

"Look at me, Strider."

You look up at him and meet his gaze. He's leaned in towards you, his shoulders tense and his toes digging into the carpet. You look back at him with a strict poker face, but on the inside your heart is throbbing painfully against your ribcage.

"I don't know how to feel about this," Jake says slowly, searching your pupils for any sign of life. "I feel like it's too fast, perhaps a bit too crazy for me to wrap the ol' noggin around…"

"And you love Jane," you add. You don't sound bitter. You're stating simple fact, just like any computer program should. Jake frowns.

"Jane is a dazzling young woman with fantastically wonderful dreams and goals in her life, and I am damn proud to call her my pal. As for love…"

"I've seen the way you look at her."

" _Will you stop that?_ " Jake suddenly exclaims, startling you. Your eyelids flutter out of surprise for the second time today. Jake backs down, but his jaw is still set and his eyebrows are pulled tightly together. "Stop… putting words in my mouth like that. And acting like you understand my love life."

"I'm sorry," you say softly. Jake just shakes his head and looks down.

"Do you hate Jane?" Jake asks, his tone a bit accusing. "Do you _hate_ her because of me?"

" _No!_ " you cry, averting your eyes so you can stare hard at your lap.

"Then why is there so much animosity?"

"There _isn't!_ "

"Is this some sort of competition, or-"

You snap your head up to look Jake in the eye. Your face is genuinely contorted into an expression of pain and hurt and anger and all of the pent up emotions that you've kept inside of you for months. When Jake sees that, his shoulders slump and he looks away.

"Look, Dirk, I…" Jake begins again, his voice much softer. "Lately I've been thinking a lot about… about what you said and how you feel and… I guess I just want to give it more time, mate. It's not that I don't care or I'm… grossed out or any nonsense bullshittery like that."

Your eyebrows slowly come together as you register what he says.

"You mean… wait, what?"

Jake swallows and wrings his hands.

"Point I'm trying to make here is uh… well, you're not the only one who's all flabbergasted about this whole pickle. So…" Jake says. He gulps and itches his neck. "What I'm saying is… that… I think… I might have a teensy-weensy, tiny bit of… positive… feelings towards you. P-Perhaps."

"Holy shit," you curse. Jake winces.

"But I don't know! I don't… ugh, the whole thing with you being a minor is still a bit frightening. I can't just go off and date a minor all willy-nilly. And, blast it all, I don't even know if I like you like that and just… just… oh, holy mother of _Steinbeck,_ I must be out of my mind!"

Normally you'd be amused by Jake throwing a fit right in front of you, but you're too busy squeezing your shades in your fist so hard that the screws holding them together creak in protest. Again, you're much happier than you let off. You hope it doesn't show too much in your eyes.

"Dirk."

You look up one more time. Jake is looking at you dead on. He takes a breath, then slowly reaches up and removes his glasses like some action movie hero. He gives you something reminiscent of a smolder. At least… that's how you perceive it.

"You're a swell fellow and I can't say that I'm entirely uninterested. Would you kindly be a doll and wait just a little longer for my response?"

You really don't know how to answer that one without saying something totally stupid and uncool. You don't know how to speak at all anymore, really. Your voice is blocked by a huge lump of feelings in your throat that you don't know how to control. The world is much brighter today, and it's not because the shades are off. But despite the brightness and the heat in your cheeks, you simply, for the life of you, cannot even begin to fathom coming up with an answer for Jake.

So, like any normal man would do, you reach out, grab his face with both hands, yank him forward, and plant your very first kiss right on his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to this chapter’s beta reading team: vann-haal, a-hungry-pterodactyl, cherryburlesque, jimmyjanechocolathunda, mattlikesfood, coldplayisawesome, waitkc, and kaliande.


	9. Chapter 9

As soon as it starts, it ends. Jake shoves you away like you've got the plague, holding you by the shoulders. You feel dizzy and you're pretty sure your skin is about to melt off of your face. You don't even realize it when Jake pushes you away. You kind of just sit there, staring blankly at him.

"What was _that?_ " he asks loudly, looking utterly shocked. You come to your senses and clear your throat.

"…A kiss," you say shortly.

"Are you out of your devilfuckin' _mind?_ " Jake shouts. You avert your eyes and smirk. At least… you try to. It's a little quirky and more like a grimace than anything. After a moment of silence, Jake relaxes and runs his hands down your arms. "…You're all wobbly, chap."

You just shrug.

"Was that your first?" he asks. He clears his throat. "Kiss, I mean."

"Yeah," you reply in your softest voice. You have officially fucked up everything before anything even got started. Great job. Jake looks straight at you, brows pulled together in thought.

"Strider?"

You try to look up into his eyes, but you can't. You pick at a loose piece of fluff on the sleeve of your sweater.

"Well this is just swell," Jake finally says. You look up just a little, but still can't really meet his eye. "For once, I've got the advantage."

Now you're curious. You look at him fully and give him an inquisitive raise of your eyebrows. He grins at you, his top two teeth resting on his bottom lip.

"Guess you Striders aren't quite the romantic wizards you make yourselves out to be, eh?" Jake asks. You just stare at him in confusion. He pats your elbow comfortingly. "It's a mighty shame you don't know how to snog correctly, lad."

Your face lights up like a Christmas tree as you pinch your lips together in humiliation. Or, at least, that's what it feels like. From the outside, you probably just look constipated. Jake chuckles.

"Wanna watch a movie?" he asks after a while. You wordlessly nod your head. He gives you a friendly slap on the thigh and stands before going to the DVD rack. "Oh, golly, I love this film. Have you ever seen… wait, no, I do believe I am even fonder of this one right here. Oh wow, and this one!"

You scratch your neck as you watch Jake from behind. Normally, it wouldn't be a big deal, but you can't help but notice that the tips of his ears are bright red. He keeps fumbling the cases, and he chokes out a nervous laugh after completely dropping one. You curse under your breath and pull your legs up to your chest, but not before grabbing two of the orange wedges and shoving them into your mouth.

"How about this one?"

Jake looks over his shoulder and holds up a DVD case of some movie you don't know or care about. You sigh and slip your shades back on.

"Sure. I don't care," you say quietly. Jake doesn't reply. He opens the case and puts the disk into the DVD player, then hauls himself to his feet and comes back to the couch.

"I used to watch this with my Granny, and what a jolly ol' time we had with that!" Jake says, launching into a random story to break the thick tension between the two of you. You grunt a bit in response. "She used to sit me in her lap and tell these extravagant tales of action and adventure… I do hope she is having a splendid time in heaven, galloping about on a beautiful steed of white, rifle in hand, and…"

Jake trails off as you snort and tip to the side to bonk your head against his shoulder. He lets out a weird, huffy giggle.

"Was it something I said?"

"You are such a dork," you murmur.

"Well, I _never_. Respect your elders!"

"Some elder," you quip. Jake tips his head back, lets out a loud guffaw, and swings his arm up and around your shoulders. His hand curls around to the side of your head, where he combs his fingers through your hair.

"Strider, stay for New Years, won't you? With me and Jane. She's bringing some magnificent sweets that I'm sure the little bloke will die for. And you and Jane could catch up, right?" Jake asks, sounding openly genuine. A true offer extended to you on a silver platter.

Unfortunately, the silver platter is lined with inevitable guilt and remorse.

"I'd love to, but I can't," you mumble. Jake's chest rises and falls against you in a long sigh.

"I had a feeling you'd say that," Jake says.

"I'm not going to cockblock a bro," you say softly. So softly, in fact, Jake has to tilt his head towards you to hear you properly.

Or maybe he just wanted his lips to brush against your hair.

"Why are you so adamant about these so called feelings I have for my dear Jane?" Jake asks. He's really bad at hiding things.

"Because you _do_ have feelings for her. I'm not putting words in your mouth, I'm straight up telling you that this shit's going down," you explain with a tone of finality that makes Jake shut his mouth. You hit the nail right on the head. "Am I right?"

"Yeah," Jake says weakly. "I'm so sorry, mate, I-"

You shake your head.

"The circumstances are rare and, frankly, the odds were never really in my favor in the first place," you say. "What you feel for Jane is understandable and predictable."

"I've always had a soft spot for blue-eyed ladies," Jake admits sheepishly, looking down at his lap in shame.

"I want…" you begin. You pause. "…I want what's best for everyone, but I'll do everything I can to get what I want in the end. But as selfish and shitty as that is, I _do_ want everyone else to be happy. Happy before me and happy with me. But I still want to be happy in the end and…"

You've talked yourself into a corner and, in frustration, you let out a groan and drop your head into your knees.

" _Fuck_ this," you grumble. Jake pats your shoulder.

"It's hard being young, huh?" Jake asks sympathetically. It makes him sound like an adult or a father figure, and you really don't like that.

"Being young is easy. It's being in love that's hard," you say to subtly (bluntly) remind him of your feelings for him. You listen closely for any type of reaction. Jake is silent, but his breath hitches in his throat and his hand freezes on your back. It takes a while for him to start rubbing again.

You both sit there for a long time to give you some time to recover. You feel stretched thin, with your conflicted feelings for Jake and your friendship with Jane and the money situation and Bro going to war and Dave becoming something he'll never be able to undo. You're stretched thin but at the same time you're wrapped up tightly, unable to tear yourself away and unable to breathe.

Oh, and on top of that, you wasted your first kiss for something as stupid as trying to look cool. You don't know if you actually care about it or not, but you can't get it off your mind.

"I… really fucked up that kiss, didn't I?" you ask after a while. Jake's hand on your back pauses. You rest your cheek on your knee and force a small smile. "Do you know if it's supposed to be a bad omen if your first kiss completely blows?"

"Ahaha," Jake laughs a bit nervously. "I can't be quite too sure on that, sorry."

"Oh well," you chuckle. "I tried."

Jake pinches his lips together, looks around, then leans into you slightly.

"You could always cheat, pretend that little flub-up didn't happen, perhaps? Call me what you will, but that might be just crazy enough to work," he says, lifting one brow.

You grin a little and raise your head ever so slightly just so you can shake it at him.

"Jesus Christ, do you do the whole ' _I'm going to prattle off some stupid shit until something that isn't quite so nonsensical drops out of my mouth_ ' for shits and giggles or is it totally uniron-"

You don't have a chance to finish, because in one smooth motion, Jake pulls your shades from your eyes and leans forward. He just barely hesitates before grazing his lips against yours. Almost instantly, he's making weird, wheezy whistling noises through his nose. He's shaking. The tip of his nose is ice cold against your cheek and his face is beet red as he gives you an awkward lip-massage with his. It occurs to you that maybe your stupid ass should be doing something, so you tentatively brush back against him. That was apparently the green light, because in a moment, your cheek is cupped in Jake's hand and his entire body shifts to accommodate you as he pulls you in closer.

Your heart is pounding harder than you'd like to admit, but you're sure Jake already knows. His hand slides down to your neck and rests over your pulse, which is throbbing with so much blood and adrenaline that you can actually feel it straining against Jake's palm. His other hand finds its place on your waist and begins to explore the curve of your body, stroking up and down until your whole torso is nothing but tingles and warmth.

Right as you make a little pleasured sound in the back of your throat, Jake pulls away and your lips separate with a small _pop_. You're shocked to say the least, but even so, Jake is breathing harder than you, his face is redder than yours, and he's definitely trembling more violently than you.

"Jesus Christ on a _cracker_ ," Jake whispers. He releases you and sits back, looking a little dumbfounded. He puts his palm to his forehead and looks around the room as if he had just been clocked upside the head. "I can't believe myself!"

"Uh…" you manage to croak. "…What?"

"I just planted a smooch right on a fucking minor," Jake moans, shaking his head and covering his eyes with one hand. "I am so dreadfully, _dreadfully_ sorry, Strider."

"No, it's fine. It's more than fine. Uh. Wow."

You don't even care that you sound genuinely shocked and pleasantly surprised. You vaguely notice your shades aren't there, but you're sort of floating away on a cloud right now.

"H-How's that for a first kiss, eh?" Jake sputters, furiously scratching the back of his neck until it's as red as the tips of his ears. You don't answer, and instead you just sit there feeling numb and looking like an idiot.

"It was…" you finally begin when Jake starts to look unsettled. "Fucking amazing."

Jake laughs a little, but then frowns and looks away.

"I consented," you quietly remind him. Jake doesn't respond, but he bends down to pick up your shades that somehow ended up on the floor. He brushes them off and flips them over in his hands.

"I wish that was how it worked legally."

"Dude, nobody's going to find out, so-"

"I know that," Jake interrupts. "But it still downright puts a knot in my knickers. You're young and you're looking at a bright future, and you deserve more than cannon fodder on the battlefield halfway across the globe."

You swallow hard against the lump in your throat and it makes an audible gulping sound.

"I'm not too superstitious, but breaking a law that could land me in prison feels like a bad omen," Jake admits, sounding a bit embarrassed.

"It's not about me having a dick?" you ask flatly. Jake recoils a bit.

"What? Heavens no! Blimey, you think this is a question about your _gender?_ If you were a girl, it'd make literally no difference to my stance on this. In both scenarios, I'm still a geezer and you're still a dashing, young, clever, and all around _enjoyable_ person to be around. I don't limit myself to one thing, Strider," Jake explains, smiling at you. "I'm all about exploring all the possibilities."

"Haha. I get it. Exploring… because you used to explore. And stuff," you say stupidly, snuggling a bit more into the couch.

"…And I think you should explore the different possibilities in your life, too," Jake says softly. He hesitantly reaches out and puts his hand on your knee. He looks you dead in the eye. "I want what's best for everyone, too."

"Okay," you sigh in defeat. Jake briefly reaches up to touch your cheek. He takes a breath like he's going to say something more, but instead he just smiles and pulls his hand away from your face.

"Thank you for trusting me enough to come over," Jake says. You just smirk.

"Dave kinda pressured me into it. Thank him instead."

"I'll be sure to tip my hat to him next time I see him," he replies with a small laugh. You both sit there awkwardly for a minute or so, not looking each other in the eyes.

"Well…" you start. You clear your throat. "I'd better grab Dave and go."

"You really don't have to go," Jake whispers as you get up from the couch. "I didn't realize how much I missed having you around. Please stay."

He reaches out and paws a bit at your hand. He's not trying to stop you from leaving, but you can tell in his eyes that he truly doesn't want you to go. You're torn almost completely in half. Your desire to stay outweighs your desire to leave, but you are well aware of the right path to take.

"Some other time," you say shortly. Just before you turn to go grab Dave, Jake catches your hand in his and brings it forward to kiss your knuckles. When he pulls away again, he lets go of your hand, then passes you your shades. You didn't even realize they weren't on your face. You tighten your lips and nod a bit to Jake as you take them and replace them over your eyes.

It takes a while for Dave to get his ass off the X-Box, so it's about ten minutes before you re-emerge from the entertainment room with your kid brother in tow. Jake meets you both at the door and gives Dave his secret handshake. While Dave's wriggling his feet into his too-small sneakers, Jake leans up against the doorframe and looks at you with a slightly bashful smile.

"So? Will I see you again sometime soon?" he asks, trying to sound all nonchalant. It doesn't go over so well. His voice cracks partway through and he half-grimaces at you. You give him a wink from behind your shades, but you're not sure if he sees it or not.

"Bro's got his ass full of club duties for the next couple of weeks. I'm sure he'll want someone to make sure we get home from school safely," you muse, scratching your chin. "I'm sure we can fit you into our busy schedule."

Jake laughs and smacks you on the shoulder like you're his best bro. Your lips twitch a little.

"Alrighty then, explorers," Jake says, clapping his hands together. "Got everything?"

Dave opens his mouth like he's going to say something smart-assed, but you nudge him to shut him up.

"Yeah, we've got everything. Later, then?" you ask.

"Yeah. Text me," Jake replies, gently bumping your elbow with the back of his hand. "I mean it."

"I will."

* * *

You don't text Jake. This is simply because, over the next few weeks, you don't _need_ to. Once school's back in session, he's back at your apartment almost every day. The routine is simple. You and Dave arrive home to find Jake leaned up against the door. He gives you both sweets and treats that he picked up, gives Dave his handshake, and heads inside to hang out with both of you until it's almost time for bed.

He always hangs out with Dave first, telling him to do his homework and then patiently watching him fiddle with his music mixer until he creates the perfect jam. One by one, Dave introduces Jake to his dead jarred creatures in an attempt to impress Jake. When he's out of jars, he shows Jake all of the photos he has taken with his camera.

You let all of this happen, either waiting without complaint in the spare room or in your bedroom. You have plenty of things to distract yourself with. Besides, after bonding with Dave and actually bothering to learn more about him, you've realized that he has been feeling out of place as well. You've learned that he's far more self-conscious than he lets off, and he craves attention from the people he cares about. You learn that while his best friend Rose lives in Texas, his other best friend, John, lives in _Washington_. When you found that out, you suddenly felt guilty for getting so pissed at him back when the whole Strider household only had one piece of shit desktop PC. Now that he has someone to boast to and someone to listen to his mixes, he has been a lot less of an asshole towards you and much more mature and kind.

Alright scratch that, maybe he's not very mature.

When Jake's finished with Dave, he goes straight to you. Out of force of habit, he always checks the spare room first, but lately he's been finding you in your bedroom, lying on your back with your laptop on your chest and your head propped up with a pillow. He'll always sit down on the bed beside you, check to see what you're doing, and smile when he sees that you're doing homework. He doesn't know that you just quickly switch to the Word file containing your homework whenever you hear him knocking.

Today, however, Jake finds you hunched over your desk in the spare room.

"Hey. Sorry 'bout that, Dave's newest eh… masterpiece was quite lengthy," he says when he enters. You don't turn around to look at him, and instead you grunt in response.

"It's fine," you mumble, scribbling furiously.

"Whatcha working on?"

"A new prototype," you say smoothly, immersed in your work. As Jake pulls up his milk crates beside your desk, you sit up and brush the protractors and pens off of your roll of blueprint paper. You pick it up and admire your work. Jake squints at it.

"Um… sunglasses?" he asks. "Oh, but I don't mean that in a bad way, I'm just curious about…"

"Artificial intelligence," you say proudly. "Something that can compute and estimate and solve the most complex algorithms in the world. I call it the _Auto Responder_."

"That's… that's dazzling, Strider. But… how is something like that supposed to work in this day and age?" Jake asks, tilting his head and lifting an eyebrow. You just grin.

"I have no fucking clue. The government, maybe?" you say with a shrug. You adjust your safety glasses on your nose. "I'm sure they have some kickass technology that the world doesn't know about yet."

"The big man, hm?" Jake muses with a chuckle. "Well, are you going to send them the blueprints?"

"They're not even close to being finished," you reply. You lovingly run your fingers over the edges of the concept sketch. "There are a lot of components I have yet to take into consideration, such as a power source and the type of metal for the rims. I'm thinking… titanium, perhaps. Tungsten hinges."

"And when the blueprints are finished…?" Jake asks slowly.

"If I can't build it by the time it's finished, I'll take them to somebody who can. The military and daily life benefits would be off the charts, Jake. Imagine the lives it would save, and how many peoples' lives would improve. I could probably design blueprints for something much more cost efficient for everyday use…" you explain, trailing off as you hunch over again.

"You have a lot of passion for this," Jake murmurs.

"I guess," you say absentmindedly. Jake continues to watch you as you lay the blueprint back down onto the table and smooth it out. You tinker with a protractor for a bit before pressing it down and drawing a perfectly angled line.

"What do you want to be when you grow up, Dirk?"

You sit up again, still pressing your protractor down on the blueprint paper. Taking a small breath, you ponder his question.

"An engineer of sorts, I would have to guess. But there's no way I'll be able to afford a tuition fee to a high-end college that's worth my time. I might just dive in right after high school," you explain with a shrug. "I mean, I probably won't start anywhere too fancy, but hopefully a design of mine can attract the attention of some fat fuck on his throne. I get to see something I've designed hit the military market, I get money. Simple as that."

"You're particularly interested in the military thing…" Jake trails off. You nod.

"Wanna make sure my brother is safe on the battlefield. Military technology means less of a chance that he's going to get his ass handed to him," you say, sagely scratching at your chin. It feels slightly prickly; you haven't shaved yet today.

"I think Dane has less of a chance of getting his caboose handed to him than I do," Jake laughs. You smile a bit with him, but it quickly fades back into a frown.

"Bro's not going out there for glory or patriotism or to protect the country or anything like that. He's going to benefit me and Dave. He just wants the benefits of being in the military. To at least help pay for college, you know? We've both got some pretty expensive dreams. Dave's into film-making and music, so he's got to look into high-end colleges that'll give him the boost in education he needs. In fact, he's looking into some university up in New York. University of Combfield or something. All of his buddies are planning to go there because it offers such a wide variety of majors and shit and… it's a really prestigious school. Shit that valedictorians go to… people with money and brains. Dave's got the brains, but he doesn't have the money. Bro will do whatever he can to get that money for him. Even if it means getting a limb blown off. Or worse."

"Dirk…" Jake sighs.

Not hearing the genuinely sad tone in your voice, you realize that you had been getting upset in front of this fucker. You relax your knitted eyebrows and take a deep breath to calm yourself down. Hoping that Jake will let it go, you start to hunch over your work again.

Of course, he doesn't let it go.

"Dirk, if it really upsets you, then you should-"

"Bro can do what he wants," you interrupt coldly, whipping your safety glasses off and putting them down on the table. You give Jake a warning glare. "If he thinks it's for the best, then it's probably true."

"Have you said anything to him about it?"

"He fucking knows I think the idea is fucking idiotic and dangerous. I don't have to say anything."

"You know, Strider, I don't think you brothers know as much about each other as you think."

There's a huge clatter as you slam your fist down on your desk and sit up straight with a deathly rigid back. You're staring straight ahead of you at your pin-up board, lips pinched tightly together and your brow scrunched up.

"I don't want to talk about it anymore," you mutter, your fingers beginning to curl into fists.

"I-" Jake begins.

"You know, I never asked for this 'financial aid' bullshit. I can get along just fine on my own. I don't need anyone's fucking _pity_ , I don't need anyone's fucking _money_ , and I especially don't need anyone to fucking _die for me!_ " you exclaim, your voice getting louder and louder. Jake jerks away from you, a look of shock on his face. As you continue, you feel your face growing hot with your pent-up fury. "And it's fucking bullshit that he doesn't even let us help, he doesn't let us get stupid fucking jobs and he won't let us get our licenses until we're eighteen, and he doesn't accept anything from anyone because he's convinced he's got this whole thing under control and all that shit, and if he doesn't get any fucking help he's going to end up drinking or stressing himself out to death _before he even boards the plane to You're-Fucking-Deadville, Iraq!_ "

Now you're shouting and your voice is positively thunderous. When you finish, you slam your fist down on your desk, ignoring the sharp burst of pain in your knuckles that it causes.

"Holy shit, did Dirk stub his toe or something?" asks a voice from the door. Dave's voice. Jake makes a sort of choked noise as if he's going to acknowledge him. Before he has a chance to, though, you shove away from your desk, hop over your piles of junk on the floor, and storm out of the room. Dave doesn't even try to get in your way.

"Wait, Strider!" Jake calls from behind you.

You're so angry at yourself for your humiliating blowup that you don't look back. You flashstep your ass straight to the front door, cram your feet into your shoes, and march straight out the door. You flashstep like you never have before, and your impossibly quick feet bring you to the base of the huge radio tower on top of the building.

It's still freezing outside. It's wet, too. Earlier the sky had tried to snow, but had only ended up coating Texas in a blanket of half-frozen rain. Raindrops still cling to the metal bars of the radio tower, making it appear menacing and dangerous.

Good.

Just the way you like it.

You have your feet up on the first precariously slippery bar when the iron elevator gate creaks open. You look over your shoulder at Jake, who's sprinting across the wet roof towards you, glasses knocked slightly askew.

"Dirk!" he calls as you look away and narrow your eyes. Your body is starting to lock up because it's so cold up here. Here, the wind is merciless, making your flimsy t-shirt billow out around your torso. Your fingers are numb and can barely grip the metal as you continue to painfully haul yourself up.

By the time Jake gets to the base of the tower, you're already halfway to the top.

"Dirk, _please!_ " Jake cries from the bottom. You stop for a second to take a breather. You can hardly get air into your cold lungs. You cling to the icy metal, wincing against the bitter wind forcing itself upon your body. There's a clanging sound from down below as Jake starts climbing up after you.

"Calm your ass, man!" you yell. "I'm just climbing, I've got this!"

There's a squeaking noise, a bang, and a thump. The bar you're holding onto vibrates. You hear Jake let out a string of cuss words. Alarmed, you look down to see Jake sprawled on the ground. He groans and sits up, holding his back. He squints up at you. You let out a sigh of relief and rest your forehead against the metal bar above you. Jake's short fall instantly put out the fire in your chest. Now you're just cold, wet, and feeling like an idiot stuck to a radio tower.

"Please just come _down!_ " Jake shouts over the wind. "It's cold as _bollocks_ out here!"

You let out a loud bark-like laugh and bury your face in the crook of your elbow, which is heavily textured with the goosebumps that coat your skin. Jake's right. It's way too fucking cold out here for this bullshit. You unknot your panties and chill the fuck out.

Slowly and carefully, you unwrap your arms from the bar you're hanging on to and start to lower your foot to the next bar down. You can hardly move your joints now, and the front of your shirt is now soaked with freezing water. It's extremely difficult to stretch your arms and lower yourself, but you think you can manage it as long as you go slowly.

Unfortunately it's a little hard to go slow when your foot suddenly slips out from underneath you. The sudden drop is too much for your numbed fingers to handle, and for a terrifying moment, you're plummeting like a rock down the side of the tower. Jake lets out this monstrous bellow, but just as you get about twenty feet from the roof, the underside of your chin bangs into a metal bar _hard._ When you reach out and grab one of the angled crossbars bars of the tower, your hold slips again and you quite suddenly slip diagonally and smash your head into the corner of the whole structure. The impact makes you let go and you start falling again. Luckily, it gives you some time to wildly flail and grab onto something. You're not very lucky. You manage to get your arm around a supporting vertical beam, but you end up dropping another five or six feet before your arm gets painfully caught on a horizontal beam.

You let out a little warble of pain as you all but attach your body to the structure and nurse your head. You're fairly aware of the metallic taste in your mouth and the warm trickle of liquid running down your chin, but right now you're only concerned with getting down.

" _God_ ," you breathe. Your heart is pounding so hard you're afraid it's going to tear straight through your sternum. The adrenaline pulsing through your body is enough to keep you focused, but even then you feel dizzy as hell.

"Dirk! Oh gods, Dirk! Strider!" Jake is calling out from down below. You hear and feel another clanging noise as he attempts to make the climb again.

"I'm fine," you slur, but your lower lip feels swollen as hell and your teeth are so sore that pronouncing anything with an 'F' sound is excruciatingly painful. Trying not to whimper, you slowly pick your way down the slippery tower that you were once able to call your friend.

When you get near the bottom, you feel a pair of miraculously warm hands wrap around your hips. As you continue to descend, the hands slide up to your waist, then your rib cage. Your shirt rides up the whole way, and you don't know if you feel better or worse as the wet shirt is peeled off of your damp torso.

When the hands are under your armpits, you jump down. Your feet are surprisingly weak from the whole endeavor, so you buckle a bit and manage to roll your left ankle like a fucking bumbling moron. Letting out a little whine, you let yourself be hoisted back up and steadied on your feet.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh mother of Great Granny _English_!" Jake curses, holding you tightly by the shoulders. You gaze blearily up at him, wavering a little.

"Am I bleedin'?" you ask (it sounds more like 'ab I bleebin'), hardly able to form words with your terribly swollen lips.

"Yes. Looks like you bit your lip pretty hard there, chap. Doesn't look too deep…"

"This is so 'ucking embarrassing," you groan, momentarily shutting your eyes.

"You should be," Jake snaps. "Jesus kringelfucking Christ, I thought I was going to have to scrape you off the ground! Do you even _care_ about what happens to you?"

"Not really," you mumble. You look down with a blank look on your face. "I'm pretty sure Bro would have a much less stressed life if I just hadn't been born at all. Just… just _fuck_ everything, man. Also, Jesus God damn shitting Christ this hurt like a 'ucking bitch."

You scrunch up your face as you lick the blood off your top front teeth.

"Christ, Dirk," Jake murmurs, drawing you very carefully into his warm arms. He doesn't seem to mind that you're bleeding and drooling grossly all over the front of his shirt. You stand there a bit awkwardly, your arms dangling limply between the two of you. "I guarantee Dane wouldn't give you up for anything in the world."

He strokes your (relatively) dry back and it feels amazing. You nuzzle into Jake and hum contentedly, ignoring the blossoming pain on the back of your upper arm where a bruise is surely forming. Your head is developing a small lump, but it isn't bleeding from what you can tell when you lift your hand to check. Jake reaches out and touches it as well. You wince, but he is careful and doesn't hurt you too bad.

"How's your head?" he asks, looking quite concerned. "You don't think…?"

"Concussion? No. I've had quite a few bumps and bangs in my life. I'll have a nasty bump for a while, but I'll be fine," you assure him, grimacing as you tenderly stroke the lump. You try to ignore the pain in your lower lip.

"What was going through your head when you did that?" Jake asks, shaking his head ever so slightly. You shrug.

"It seems that I am on what many would call a 'man period'," you observe. "I go up there when I'm upset. I've been kind of an emotional asshat at school, too."

"I guess," Jake chuckles. "Golly, it's quite alright, Dirk. You can unload your troubles onto me. I don't mind."

You look up from Jake's chest with your nasty liquid-streaked face.

"You seriously don't care?"

"Of course not. Why do you think I'm here? You need some sort of father figure, huh?" he asks. Feeling a bit stung, you look down. Without your shades on, Jake can pick up on your expressions much easier, however. He stiffens a bit. "No, I meant… like a friend… like…"

Your bump your forehead against Jake's chest once more.

"Companion sounds better," you murmur. Jake giggles a little.

"That makes it sound like I'm your dog."

"You practically act like a puppy anyway," you remark. Jake gently slaps your back.

"Hush. Fine. But let's get you cleaned up. Inside. It's ridonkulously cold out here."

"I don't want to fucking move," you groan, leaning heavily against Jake and intending for it to be a joke. Jake, however, wraps his arms around your waist and easily hoists you up. "Oh fuck yes. Hell fucking yes. This is some class A traveling right here. Dude, piggyback me."

"As you wish, sweet prince," Jake teases, setting you down for a moment. You shuffle your way behind him, easily hop up onto his back, and wrap your arms around his neck as he straightens and walks back towards the elevator.

"Your shirt appears to be completely fucking wrecked," you comment tiredly. Jake sighs.

"I have plenty of shirts to go around. No worries," he assures you. When he gets to the elevator, he slips in and patiently waits for the creaky gates to close behind him.

The ride down the elevator is wonderfully quiet and peaceful. Jake idly rubs the underside of your right calf as he watches the lights on the buttons slowly descend to your floor. When you get there, he adjusts you a little on his back, then heads to your apartment door, which is still open a crack.

When you get inside, Dave is already in the living room, absently clicking away at his laptop while simultaneously looking mildly concerned. He notices you coming in almost immediately, but he doesn't anticipate seeing your whole fucking face covered in blood. He jumps up from the futon and runs to you and Jake, his eyes wide behind his shades.

"What happened?" he asks incredulously, sounding somewhere between being frightened and eager to ask you about what sort of wild makeout session you had with Jake.

"Dirk just had a little fall is all," Jake answers for you, to which you respond with a grateful pat on his sternum. Dave nods a bit skeptically as he watches Jake pass him by with you on his back. He goes straight to the bathroom, where he first helps you clean up your lip. The damage done to it was very minor, so you don't have to go to the hospital or have your lips glued back together or anything stupid like that.

The only real casualty is one of your old work shirts, which has dried blood all over the front of it. You don't mind parting with it. In fact, you use it as a rag to wipe the rest of the blood away before grabbing a clean washcloth and prepping it for some deep cleaning.

"Will you be alright?" Jake asks. He's standing in the doorway, his arms crossed as he watches you carefully.

"I'm good," you reply.

"Alright. I'll be with Dave, then," Jake says, hesitating in the doorway for a moment to triple check to make sure you're okay. You nod to him and allow him to leave you to your cleaning. You spend a good twenty minutes on yourself, examining your body and wiping all of the blood and the cold away. You find the beginnings of a huge bruise on the underside of your upper arm, and without much thought you poke the tender skin. It's an instant ache when you so much as look at it, so you cut that shit out as soon as you can. When you're finished, you exit the bathroom and go to your room, where you fish another old work shirt out of a cardboard box and put it on.

Once finished, you make your way back to the living room, but not before pausing to listen in on what Jake and Dave are talking about.

All you hear is a lot of thumping around and laughing.

In the living room, Jake is galloping about with Dave clinging to his back like some sort of possum, whooping and yelling as they duck in and out of the kitchen, around the table, around the futon, and over the several piles of junk that litter the floor.

"What the hell are you two doing?" you ask, but the amusement in your voice betrays the words. Jake comes to a stop, panting quite a bit from running around.

"Dave wanted a piggyback ride and I thought it was only fair, mate," Jake explains, beaming at you with that dorky grin. You raise an eyebrow up at Dave, who just smirks back down at you.

"That's right, it's my turn to ride Prince Charming, motherfucker," Dave sneers. Jake's face immediately turns beet red.

" _Dave!_ " he all but squeals. He looks to you desperately for help.

All you can do, however, is laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to this chapter's beta readers: vann-haal, a-hungry-pterodactyl, cherryburlesque, treadingformylife, herneuroticloquaciousness, and nightingalelost.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING:: mild trigger warning for alcoholism and violence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I apologize for the super late update. I just moved up for my freshman year of college, and my life has been terribly busy as of late. Speaking of which, from now on, updates will be farther apart because I start classes tomorrow and I will probably have a bunch of homework/syllabi to go through. Thank you very, very much for your patience!

"You _made out?"_

"No!" you snap, slamming your palms down on the table. "A _kiss_ , Lalonde. It was just a kiss!"

"That's just what you _want_ me to think, you sneaky sneak face," Roxy says, squinting and pointing a skeptical finger at you. "I'm onto you, Mr. Strider."

"Well, it was longer than five seconds but no more than thirty," you grumble. "Not even close to a full makeout session, I mean… Jesus Christ, did you expect us to just hop into bed and start dry humpin' the moment I vomited out my feelings for that motherfucker?"

Roxy stares.

"…Uh, yeah, duh!" she finally says. You groan and fold your arms on the lunch table before dropping your head into them.

"You know better than that," you mumble. "Just because I've got the hots for a big hairy Sasquatch doesn't mean I want to dive into bed with him right this instant."

"Would you fuck him, though?" Roxy asks immediately, bringing her elbows up onto the table and resting her chin on her palms. "Hmm?"

You actually have to think about that one for a moment. Would you _actually_ want to fuck him?

"I'm not sure," you finally answer with a genuinely uncertain shrug. "I think I'd be content with just… mackin'. Mackin' forever."

" _Reeeeeeeally_ …" Roxy says skeptically. She takes a nonchalant sip of her apple juice as you sit up and pull your lunch tray back towards you. That's right. School food. With Bro's new income, you don't have to mooch off of Roxy's tray anymore.

She still lets you have her string cheese and fruit cup every day, though.

"Yes, really. I don't even know how I feel about… bumping uglies as a whole. Seriously," you admit, looking down. You feel incredibly exposed without your shades. Not being allowed to wear them in class forces you to keep them in your locker, and… on days when you need to run if you want to get the last serving of the lunch special, you're forced to make some sacrifices.

You take a comforting bite out of your heaping pile of chicken alfredo noodles.

"So have you spanked the sparkler to him yet?" Roxy asks out of absolutely nowhere. You choke instantly, some spit going down the wrong tube. Fighting to remain classy and stoic as fuck, you cough and hack into the crook of your elbow for what seems like years before Roxy offers you her juice. You gulp down a big mouthful and manage to calm your lungs long enough to recover.

"Obviously. Sparks were just everywhere," you deadpan, sputtering a bit more before you've truly managed to clear your throat. Roxy lifts up her arms in a helpless shrug. "No, I haven't. Why?"

"Wellllll…" she trails off, flicking her tongue slowly over her teeth. She wiggles her eyebrows at you. "I'm curious as to how the master of stoicism and ninja-ness himself lets his hair down. I mean, you massage the meat, right?"

"Your obsession with my gigantic beef truncheon is unsettling me."

"C'mon, Dirk…" she says lowly, looping her arm in yours and walking her fingers up and down your forearm. She pouts her shiny, glossed-up bottom lip at you. "Won't you sate my… _burning_ curiosity?"

You grimace at her.

"Don't you have straight men to harass?"

" _Diiiiirk!_ " she cries, stamping her feet under the table. "I'm your BFF! You can tell me _any_ thing!"

"Fine, just keep your mouth shut about it," you hiss, wrestling your arm out of hers. You quickly wolf down the rest of your lunch as cleanly as you can before neatly wiping your lips with your napkin. You take a deep breath. "First of all… no, I haven't done anything like… that… while thinking about him. I swear to God. I thought about it briefly once, but I decided not to risk it. Not with the big man prowling the house at night, just waiting to pounce on the innocent."

"No, I believe you. I have a ninja eye, Mr. Strider. I can see lies from probably a zillion miles away," Roxy says with a flip of her hand and a little smile. You sigh.

"It just doesn't interest me, like…" you trail off. "I do it every couple days but it's not like I sit there thinking about it. It's purely logistical. Will it help me get to sleep, will I release certain chemicals in my brain to help me think better, will it decrease my chances of prostate cancer-"

"Doinking the dong does that?" Roxy asks. "Damn."

"I guess. I just don't really give a fuck about sex right now," you say. "It makes me sound like a huge douche, but I'm serious. I have other things to worry about. Like building robots and watching football."

"You don't watch football."

"Precisely."

"Maybe it's because you haven't been all hot and bothered before. Do you ever get hard without doing anything?" Roxy asks.

"That's actually a thing that happens? Well, kick my dog and call me Sally."

"Omigod," Roxy squeals, balling up her fists and squirming in her seat. "You are such a virgin! A super-virgin! The ultimate virgin to end all virgins!"

"Please. I've been touched before."

"Oh jeez, are you talking about that one teensy weensy time your 'girlfriend' touched your butt in the eighth grade and you totally broke up with her on the spot?" Roxy giggles. Your face grows a little hot and you scratch the back of your neck.

"…I didn't realize that this was so important. Losing my virginity and shit."

"Well duh. Welcome to two years ago! You're in high school!"

You should've just grabbed your God damned shades. Luckily for you, Roxy notices the look on your face a moment later. Her huge smirk fades into a frown.

"…Oh. Oh man, Dirk, I didn't…" she begins, looking a little embarrassed. You glance at her.

"It's fine, Roxy. I'm not angry with you. Just a little surprised is all. I thought I had taken all of the facts into consideration, but it appears that, despite all of my careful calculations, I missed a huge portion of the big picture," you explain, waving your hand dismissively. "I just… I'm wondering if I'm defected or something because I don't… yeah. Better watch out, this alien's out to probe."

"Well, asexuality is totes a thing, y'know," Roxy adds, wagging her finger at you. You scrunch up your nose.

"I can't mate with myself to reproduce."

Roxy tips her head back and laughs.

"No, silly-billy. It just means that you aren't really interested in sex."

"Well, that'd explain my predicament, but I don't really think that's it, to be honest," you say. "It's more like I've never had a reason to want sex, you know?"

"So you've just never wanted to jump anybody," Roxy says. She folds her arms on the table and rests her head there, yawning. Your lips twitch upwards into a smile.

"Tired?"

"I've got a mad hangover and my head huuuuurts," Roxy whines. "That bit of fancy wine I had before school is starting to wear out. You should carry me to class, Dirky-poo."

"No. Anyway, if it's any consolation to your curiosity, English makes me feel things. Elusive _Strider_ feelings, no less."

"That's great," Roxy mumbles, her eyes closed and slightly creased. "Hey, so, did he tell you about anything that might've happened between him and Janey on New Years?"

"He didn't say much, but he said nothing wild happened. He wasn't lying, unless he learned how to be an expert liar in like three days. I think Jake ate and drank so much that he threw up and Jane just held his hair back for him, and I'm pretty sure that if there was any mood, that ruined it. That man is packing some class A romance skills, let me tell you."

"Poor Jaaaane…" Roxy sighs, cracking a glittery, bedazzled eye open. You frown.

"I know. I still feel kind of shitty."

"You should def talk to her about it, Dirk. I keep saying that she'll understand, man!"

"I get it," you say with a big sigh. "I'll think about it."

* * *

After school, Jake doesn't show up at your apartment. Naturally, you sulk in your own subtle way for the rest of the day. Well, fuck. The day was already bad because the freezing rain had returned with a vengeance. You're lucky you brought an umbrella to school today. Fortunately, you and Dave were able to huddle under it and avoid getting overly wet.

Dave goes off to do his homework while you throw your backpack across your room and plan on procrastinating until three o' clock in the morning tonight. You instead go for your laptop, which you unplug from its charger so you can wander into the kitchen to rummage for something to eat.

By the time your laptop is booted up and ready to go, you have a paper plate with a heaping pile of Chex Mix on it. You fall into a chair at the kitchen table and munch while you browse your usual websites. Roxy has been bothering you to get a "Facebook" recently. Apparently everyone has one. One look at the website, however, and you exit out of it as fast as possible.

Nothing has changed with your favorite puppet sites, either. Every day you're hoping for some sort of awesome update, but you always have to remind yourself that they update pretty irregularly and probably won't be updating for another week.

You find something of interest when you open up Pesterchum, your favorite indie chat client that you recently shared with Jake. Speaking of which, Jake seems to have messaged you a couple times.

golgothasTerror [GT] began pestering timeausTestified [TT]

GT: Sorry i couldnt make it to your place today! I have some paperwork i need to fill out today so i thought it would be best to stay home. [1:36 PM]

golgothasTerror [GT] ceased pestering timeausTestified [TT]

golgothasTerror [GT] began pestering timeausTestified [TT]

GT: Did you and dave make it home safely? [2:02 PM]

golgothasTerror [GT] ceased pestering timeausTestified [TT]

golgothasTerror [GT] began pestering timeausTestified [TT]

GT: Hello? [2:39 PM]

golgothasTerror [GT] ceased pestering timeausTestified [TT]

golgothasTerror [GT] began pestering timeausTestified [TT]

_Jake is typing…_

_Jake is typing…_

_Jake is typing…_

You roll your eyes and rest your cheek on your knuckles, tapping your finger on the table as you wait for Jake to type like a one-fingered old man.

GT: It says youre online but are you really here? [3:10 PM]

TT: Yeah. I'm here. Sup? [3:10 PM]

GT: I just finished up my paperwork so im not really doing anything! [3:12 PM]

TT: Congratulations. [3: 12 PM]

GT: Thanks! How about you? Did you get your homework done? [3:15 PM]

TT: Hell no. I'll get it done, don't get all uptight about it. Dave didn't have much, and he got right to work on it when he got home. He's probably done by now. [3:16 PM]

GT: Alright. Well i trust you. Just make sure you get that done! Itd suck to see you fail a class that is just easy-breezy-lemon-squeezy for you! [3:19 PM]

TT: Failing. Ha. You're absolutely hilarious. [3:19 PM]

TT: Really, I'm splitting my sides over here. [3:19 PM]

GT: Gosh you type fast! How do you do that? [3:21 PM]

TT: I have… [3:21 PM]

TT: Experienced fingers. [3:22 PM]

TT: B) [3:22 PM]

GT: Haha! Codswallop! Its just because you have those slender spider-fingers! [3:24 PM]

You start to reply, but Jake starts typing again. You delete everything and wait for him to talk first, but you see the 'Jake is typing…' status disappear. Hesitantly, you wait for a moment before you start typing again.

He starts typing at the same time.

Sighing, you delete everything again. This time, Jake continues.

GT: Really, how does a gentleman get by with such elegant hands? [3:30 PM]

TT: Easily. [3:30 PM]

TT: It makes things easier to take apart. If I had huge, poofy asshole hands, I wouldn't be able to build things or take things apart. [3:30 PM]

TT: Shit like that. My hands are better than yours. [3:30 PM]

TT: Suck it. [3:31 PM]

Jake doesn't respond for a while, so you busy yourself by tidying up a bit in the kitchen. You start wiping shit down with a ragged washcloth. You listen to the pattering sound of rain against the window and the slow approach of thunder.

A few minutes later, you're starting to get nervous about your conversation with Jake. Did he get offended by your assholery? You raise your hands to type some sort of ironic apology, but Jake starts typing just before your fingers touch the keyboard.

GT: Have you heard of skype? [3:49 PM]

TT: Skype? [3:49 PM]

TT: Vaguely. Isn't it kind of like Ventrilo? [3:50 PM]

GT: Now what in ken keseys name is that? [3:53 PM]

TT: Voice chat program. [3:53 PM]

GT: Oh i believe that is like skype! Skype is like an online phone doohickey. [3:55 PM]

TT: Yeah. What about it? [3:56 PM]

GT: intl/en-us/home [3:56 PM]

GT: Perhaps youd like to talk to me sometimes? I mean we could use our actual phones too haha. But sometimes all the conflicting waves or signals or whatever you call those thingies make calling people a real hassle! [4:01 PM]

TT: Sure. I'd love that. [4:01 PM]

GT: Sadly we cannot speak at this moment. I am lacking the proper headgear! Ill let you know when i invest in a headset. [4:04 PM]

TT: Alright. [4:04 PM]

GT: Well im sorry to leave in such a hurry but i gotta run! Ive got some errands to do. [4:06 PM]

TT: Pick up some more of those orange wedges while you're at it, sweetcheeks. [4:06 PM]

GT: *pulls collar* Sweetcheeks? [4:09 PM]

TT: Would you prefer it if I called you honeybuns? [4:09 PM]

TT: …I'm kidding, butternuts. [4:11 PM]

GT: Hahaha! I knew that. Must fly. Farewell 'honeybuns'! Hehe! [4:13 PM]

TT: Farewell. [4:13 PM]

golgothasTerror [GT] ceased pestering timeausTestified [TT]

You sit there for a few moments more, your fingers poised over your keyboard as if Jake'll come back any second. When he doesn't, you sigh and lean back in your chair. Damn. You didn't realize how much you relied on Jake for entertainment and company. You feel… lonely. Almost.

As if on cue, the door to your apartment suddenly slams open and there's a shuffling sound as someone stumbles in. You jump up from your chair and run to the archway of the kitchen, where you peer around the corner to see Bro there. He's swaying on his feet and squinting sightlessly at the opposite wall. The top of his shirt is soaking wet, and his hair is a little limp from the rain outside.

Shit.

"Too fuckin' intoxicated to work, my ass!" Bro erupts out of nowhere, his volume taking you by surprise and nearly making you jump. His half-lidded eyes land on you. "Dirk. Does this look fuckin' 'wasted' to you?"

"No," you answer, deadpan, concluding that it'll be easier to tame the bull by agreeing with whatever he fucking says.

"They don't fuckin' know how to 'preciate my ass, I work my fingers to the God damn bone every fucking day in there, and for what? Them to tell me that I won't be able to DJ properly without my sober face? What a load of fuckin' bullshit! I ought to quit!" Bro rages, swinging his arms to and fro with wide, dramatic, _dangerous_ gestures. He stomps past you and into the living room, where he flops down on the futon in front of the TV.

"Do you need anything?" you ask softly, still somewhat hidden behind the archway. Bro throws his cap off and itches his scalp.

"A fuckin' beer would be nice."

You look down and gnaw the inside of your cheek.

"Bro, you're a little… don't you think you've had enough?"

Bro turns his head towards you, lips slightly parted and his eyebrows pulled together like you just asked him to bust his head open on the cluttered coffee table. You nod, duck back into the kitchen, and grab a beer out of the fridge. You go back to the living room with it, extending your arm and cautiously offering the beverage to your intoxicated brother.

"I know how to hold my God damn alcohol, kid," Bro growls, snatching the beer from your hands. He kicks up his feet on the coffee table, knocking Dave's remote controlled helicopter to the floor. He inhales sharply through his nose. "If I see that fucking toy one more time, I'm going to fucking _bust it over one of your God damn heads!_ "

You drop to your knees and gather the whole thing up in your hands before fast-walking your ass across the living room and to the hallway. You go to Dave's room, only to find that his door is shut. You cradle the remote controlled helicopter in one arm, open the door, and quietly slip inside.

Dave's nowhere to be found. There's a half-eaten plate of strawberries still sitting on the new mattress Bro recently brought home for Dave. There's a cup full of something on the end table with a bendy straw in it. His laptop isn't in its usual place on his desk, and his desk chair is unusually pushed in. You go to his desk and set the toy down before gently pulling the desk chair back out.

Dave's huddled under his desk, his laptop on his thighs. The light is reflecting off of his shades as he stares at it with a complete poker face.

"Yo," you say softly, kneeling. Dave glances at you before wordlessly turning back to his laptop.

"Like the new arrangements?" he asks quietly. "Found out this was an ill little place to chill, y'know? Nice and isolated, pretty damn soundproof. This is like a motherfucking room all up in my room. How awesome is that?"

"…Pretty awesome," you say. You glance over your shoulder. "…Except you left your fucking snacks unattended. I'm going to eat that shit."

"You better not!" Dave hiss-whispers, turning his head fully towards you. You chuckle and stand up before going to his bed and grabbing the paper plate. You eat the biggest strawberry as you carry it back to him. He takes it gratefully and looks back at his screen while you kneel down again.

"Better?" you ask. Dave nods his head and licks the juice out of the bite mark on a strawberry before nibbling some more.

"Can you get my beer too, please?" Dave asks flatly. You blink and stand up, your heart sinking as you turn around to see his cup on the table. Grimly curious, you go to it, pick it up, and bring the straw to your lips.

It's apple juice.

"This is apple juice," you state, not letting the relief flooding your heart show in your voice.

"No shit," Dave says. You just shake your head and go back to the desk, where you kneel down one last time and hand him his juice. You watch him munch and drink his juice for a while.

"…Are you going to need your inhaler?" you finally ask. Dave sips thoughtfully at his drink.

"How drunk is he?"

You chew your bottom lip.

"He's… coherent," you answer. Dave nods. His face doesn't change, but you've been friendly towards him long enough to pick up on the subtle hints he makes. His body tenses a bit, and his toes curl against the floor. The edges of his eyebrows twitch downwards ever so slightly. You reach out and rest your hand on his shoulder. "Just stay in here until I give you the word, alright?"

"Dude, I don't want you facing that shit alone, man, I-" Dave begins, but you massage the back of his neck and he trails off with a little whine. The thunder rumbles ominously outside.

"Whatever. I've dealt with this bullshit before, I ain't scared of him," you lie. Somehow, you know Dave knows you're talking out your ass, but there's no use in scaring him further. "Just try to keep calm, okay?"

"Okay," Dave says. He doesn't have anything snarky to say after that, so you stand up once more and push the desk chair in so Dave is properly concealed again. After that, you venture out to find…

Bro is no longer on the futon.

Panicking a little, you race to the kitchen. Your laptop is exactly where it was before, but you see that the leftover brown bagel chips from your Chex Mix are gone. Swallowing hard, you flashstep all over the house, checking all of the rooms except for Bro's.

You find him in the spare room, standing over your desk with a beer in one hand and your blueprints in the other. You freeze in the doorway, wide-eyed behind your shades.

"Gettin' cozy with English, huh?" Bro asks slowly before turning his head to the side and taking a swig of his beer.

"We're good friends, yes. He enjoys watching me work in here," you say slowly. Bro lowers the blueprints slightly to look straight ahead at your corkboard over your desk. You can't see his eyes, but you know he's looking at Jake's Christmas letter.

"When you gonna stop wasting time, li'l man?" Bro asks in a low, menacing voice. A chill goes through your body.

"What do you mean?"

Bro puts your blueprints down and turns around. He gestures to the entire room.

"This shit," he says. He takes another swig. You clench and unclench your fists at your sides, itching to fidget.

"…What shit?"

In a sudden fit of anger, Bro violently punts a pile of washers on the floor. You cringe as the pile explodes and washers fly in every direction.

" _This_ shit!" he barks. "Locking yourself in here, gettin' all pasty-assed, weak little _shit_."

As he speaks, he kicks over a pile of bolts. Then he kicks over your carefully organized pile of drill bits. You can't help but jolt every time he does it. You want to just backflip the fuck out of here. Straight out a window, preferably. Bro isn't himself when he drinks. Well… he's always angry, but it's never unjustified like this. Blood rushes in your ears as your fight-or-flight instinct kicks in. Bro's walking towards you, slowly but surely.

"What are you going to do with your fucking _life?_ "

He actually hooks his hand on one of your toolboxes and throws it to the floor. The latch busts open and tools scatter all over the floor with a thunderous _crash._

"Hey…!" you blurt, starting forward to gather your tools. Bro, however, lets his beer bottle slip out of his hand and clatter to the floor. Miraculously, it doesn't break, but the remainder of the beer splashes onto the wooden floor. You straighten instantly as Bro towers over you.

"I'm not wasting my fucking time, and my fucking _money_ for you to sit around playing with _garbage_ ," he snarls in your face. "You hear me? You need to be studying, preparing for your fuckin' future. _You're seventeen!_ "

He practically screams the last words. You let out a choked gasping sound, jerking away from Bro in alarm.

"That _is_ my future!" you argue weakly, but Bro, being as drunk as he is, doesn't register it. He interprets it as you talking back. A vein in his neck pops.

" _What did I just fucking say?_ " he shouts in your face. Out of nowhere, he roughly grabs you by the arm. His fingers dig into your heavily bruised upper arm and you gasp in pain. He shakes you. "Oh _suck it up!"_

He drags you down the hallway, moving so fast that you have to stumble behind him. You're trying to claw at his hand to get him to let up a little on your arm, but his grip is solid. He drags you straight to the opposite end of the hall. His bedroom.

He kicks the door open, busting the knob (again). With another loud crash, the door flies open and slams into the wall. You croak something out incoherently as Bro jerks you forward so hard that your shades are knocked from your face. They fall to the hardwood floor and one lens cracks up the middle. You don't have much time to worry about it, however, because Bro shoves you at his desk.

Sitting there is one large five-gallon glass jug. The bottom fifth of the jar is filled with spare change, singles, and even a couple fives, tens, and twenties.

"What the hell is this?" you whisper. Bro's grip on your arm loosens and falls away.

"Your college tuition money," he replies. Your blood runs cold as your bare eyes widen and take in the horrifying sight. You whirl around to catch Bro lowering his shades. His eyes are creased. The anger is gone, but the drunkenness is still there. He takes a shaking breath. "…I just want you to be successful, dammit."

"How…" you begin. Your heart is hammering in your chest. You shake your head. Your eyes frantically search Bro's room in an attempt to find another jar. All you find is his old puppet doll, Li'l Cal, draped over his desk chair with its ominous smile on its face.

"I need you to help me out too, li'l man," Bro says quietly. His mood has changed so fast that your head is still spinning from it. Fucking alcohol. You make a note to never let Bro give you a 'shut your fucking mouth and drink me' beer again. "I can't have you wastin' your time with stupid shit. Time is money. I don't want you wasting your time on some stupid dream and then… having it backfire right in your face and leaving you penniless."

You step towards the jar and put your hands on it, staring hard at the money in it. There's got to be at least six hundred dollars in here.

"How long have you had this?" you finally ask.

"Since Mom and Dad left."

You feel like you're going to vomit. Your fingers curl against the thick glass, leaving clear trails in the dust.

"Where's Dave's?" you ask. Bro clears his throat.

"…He doesn't have one."

"What the actual fuck?" you hiss, turning around and scowling. You keep one hand on the money jar. "Not even a _cent_ for him?"

Bro sways on his feet again, his eyes dull with alcohol. He looks blankly around the room before resting his unfocused eyes on you.

"Dave's the one who needs college," you say. Bro's eyes narrow.

"Don't fucking act like you can just chase a dream and get anything out of it!" he snaps. "Welcome to the real world, asshole! Not _everything_ goes your way!"

" _I don't need this!_ " you shout right back, smacking the jar with your hand. "I'm not even fucking going to college!"

" _You won't go anywhere!_ "

Something inside of you snaps.

"You know what, Dane? You fucking _know_ what I think?" you ask threateningly, developing a head bob you never thought you had before. You approach Bro fearlessly, even though you're significantly shorter. "I think you think I'm incapable, that I'm just a fucking shitstain who can't handle himself, who can't stick with anything, who can't take any fucking responsibilities, who's going to end up _just like you!_ "

You're bellowing by the end, your face turning red with the effort of shouting. Your voice really wasn't meant for this. Bro's eyebrows come together and he opens his mouth to argue. You don't have any of that.

"Well I'll tell you something, _Bro_ ," you sneer. "You don't have to worry, because unlike you, I'm going to make an effort to go somewhere in my life, I'm going to take the fucking reins and I'm going to be the God damn Big Man in this shit, I'm going to control the strings of my own God damn life. Unlike you, I'm going to stay sober and realize that there's more to life than _DWELLING ON THE PAST AND REFUSING TO MOVE FORWARD!_ "

Bro reaches out and grabs you by the shirt collar. He lifts you up partially, and you're forced to stand on your tiptoes as you're brought up to his eye level.

"You better shut your mouth before I mother fuckin' shut it for you," Bro growls.

"Fucking do it! _Do it!"_ you bellow. You lash out and strike him with a hit to his jaw. His grip tightens on your collar and it constricts your throat. "You're nothing but talk. All you do is preach and preach and tell us that all we can do is move forward, 'keep on Striding!', and all of that bullshit! Well you know, the only one who's being left behind is _you_ , Dane! You're giving your life up for _nothing!_ "

"Is this…" Bro whispers. His eyes narrow even more and he brings you even closer to his face. "Is this about me going into the fucking _military?_ "

"You're not the God damn _hero!_ " you shout. Bro drops you so suddenly that you fall back onto your ass.

"I'm doing it for _you!_ "

" _I don't need it!_ "

You scramble to your feet and continue before Bro can interrupt.

"You take this money," you start, deathly quiet as you point to the jar behind you. "And you give it to Dave. I don't fucking want it. Not a God damn cent. And maybe, after that, you can focus on things that actually need attention right now, like how you're _traumatizing_ your kid brother! Are we going to revert back to how it used to be?"

"Get out," Bro mutters.

"How much longer do you think it'll be before Dave ends up like you? When he starts drinking to forget shit, just like you?"

"Get the fuck out."

"How much longer before he breaks a _fucking_ bottle over someone's head because he's too caught up in his own bullshit to take responsibility of the mess he's in?" you ask savagely, driving the spear into places you've never dared to stab before. You can practically see him cracking completely in half before you as you reach up and yank back your hair. You turn your head to the side to show Bro the long, white scar running from your hair line to the middle of the back of your head. You look back at Bro. His face is so red it's almost purple. You've never seen him so livid.

"Get the fuck out of my house," he murmurs. "Get the fuck out of here."

"If you touch Dave, I'm calling the police," you spit.

"GET. _OUT!_ "

He's dead fucking serious now. You run from the room. He doesn't follow. You go straight to your bedroom and yank one of your duffel bags out from underneath your shitty bed. You unceremoniously stuff a few articles of clothing (you're sure to pack all of clothing Jake gave you) and some of your cords for your various electronics.

Those various electronics are crammed into your other duffel bag. After that, you run to your spare room and grab armfuls of stuff, including one of your new drills and all of your blueprints. After some brief thought, you tear Jake's Christmas note off of the corkboard as well and fold it up in your blueprints. You go back into your bedroom and drop all of your shit in the second duffel bag. You grab a couple work shirts to pad the insides and protect things from damage. Finally, you grab your wallet and shove it in your pocket.

Once you've got what you need, you rush out of your room, lugging your heavy bags with you. You go to the kitchen, close your laptop, then put it in your second duffel bag. When everything's zipped up, you flashstep to the door and violently shove your feet into your sneakers.

"Dirk?"

You look over your shoulder to see Dave making a beeline towards you, arms half-outstretched and his mouth gaping in confusion. However, there is a blur of motion, and suddenly Bro is standing there, completely blocking Dave's path. He's got his shades back on and you can't see his eyes. You set your jaw and turn to face him, puffing your chest up a little.

"I'm gay," you say while you exhale, not even bothering to explain that you still don't know your own sexuality. Bro doesn't seem fazed. "I'm a huge fucking faggot! I like men! Just hand me a couple of fucking cocks, I'll suck 'em all!"

You scrunch up your face, unable to convey all of the disgust you're feeling right now.

"Hope you're not _disappointed_ with me!"

Bro's face finally changes. There's a slight shift in his expression. Something like realization appears there. Something has clicked.

You don't give Bro any time to explain himself. You don't give _yourself_ time to explain yourself. You spin on your heel and throw the door open.

For the second time in your life, you run away from home.

Just your luck, it's pouring outside. It's cold as hell, and by the time you get to the bus stop, you're soaked to the bone and you're shivering so hard you might drop dead. You duck under a narrow awning in front of a restaurant. It's windy, so it doesn't help much in keeping you dry. You pull your iPhone out of your pocket, dial a number, and press it to your ear. The phone picks up instantly.

" _Bro, don't do this, please come home, man this isn't fucking funny anymore_ ," Dave's voice instantly begs, giving you no time to say anything. His voice sounds thick, like he's been crying. " _Bro's not drunk anymore, he's still just standing by the door, Dirk please just come home, please_."

"Calm down," you say softly. "It'll be okay, man. Just take deep breaths. Do you have your inhaler?"

" _Man_ …" Dave laughs. It's more of a cough-laugh, and there's a blast of air in your ear as he blows right into the phone. " _I don't need it. I'm Dave Motherfucking Strider, remember?_ "

You smirk a bit. Dave sighs shakily into the phone.

" _Dirk?_ " he asks. He doesn't need to ask the full question.

"I'm just crashing at English's place for a while. I'm sure both me and Bro need some time to breathe, yeah? Just relax, soon this will all be over and we'll be stinkin' up the apartment with our sick fart contests again."

" _How long has all of this passive aggressive bullshit been going down?"_

"Years," you sigh. "I'm not surprised that it happened. I just wasn't expecting the snap to come so soon."

" _I think you could smell it coming. Like, that's why you've been so pissy lately. Maybe_ _you have some weird psychic shi-"_

"No rambling," you snort. You hear Dave let out another cough-laugh. He clears his throat and sniffs. "And no crying. You're a Strider. Dave Mother _fucking_ Strider."

" _He's sorry, man_ ," Dave moans, his voice breaking near the end. You hear him gulp and you just know that he's going to start crying again if you don't calm him down. " _Do you hate him?_ "

"I don't hate Dane," you assure. "Not at all. You're looking at this like it was between me and a dad. It was just a disagreement. Between brothers. Like when me and you used to fight over who got to use the computer."

" _I'm fucking scared out of my mind, bro. This shit is so uncool, I swear to Christ."_

"I know," you say. "Calm down. Just relax. He's not going to do anything to you, I promise. If I thought he'd do something, I would've taken you with me. This is between me and him."

" _But-"_

"He. Isn't. Abusive," you say as slowly as you can. "This had nothing to do with you. If I was afraid for you, I would've, _again_ , gotten you out of there."

" _You promise?"_

"I promise. There's nothing to be afraid of," you say. You cringe at the words coming out of your mouth. You don't know that. So why do you keep lying to this kid? This kid that you love? You shove the doubt into the back of your head and refuse to think of it any longer. "Go give him some Strider-patented love, man. Snuggles and shit. I'm sure he needs it."

" _What about you?"_

"I'm prioritizing. You keeping a good relationship with Bro is my priority right now, I'm just sorry I can't be there for you."

" _Fucking liar. You just want a slice of that fine English ass."_

"That too," you chuckle. You look up as you hear the familiar squealing of brakes. "The bus is here, man. I'm going to let you go."

Dave is quiet.

"Dave?"

" _I love you, man. Um… no homo."_

You laugh.

"You're such an assbutt. Jesus. I love you, too. I'll talk to you soon."

" _Alright. Bye, dude."_

"Later."

You hang up and stuff your phone back in your pocket before darting to the bus. You board it, pay your fare, then choose a seat. There aren't many people on the bus because of the storm, so you are very comfortable for once in your seat.

It doesn't take long to get to the bus stop that's closest to Jake's apartment complex. You hop off and run as fast as you can through the rain. You're in awe; the lightning is close enough to see each individual vein rip across the clouds. The thunder crashes and the rain pounds the ground. It'd be awesome if it wasn't so fucking cold.

In the lobby, you're given several weird looks. Probably because usually you come in with a lot more swag, a lot less bags, and a lot less _wet_. You go to the elevators and ride up to Jake's floor. You're about ready to collapse out of exhaustion from carrying your heavy bags by the time you stumble to Jake's door.

Just as you turn the knob, however, you realize you don't have keys. At your wits end, you crash to your knees and just tip over. You fall heavily onto your side and just lie there in defeat.

For the first time, you wish you could just disappear and never utter a single word again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry the pesterlog wasn't color coded! For some reason, the codes weren't working and I didn't want to delay the chapter any further.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAHA HEY IT'S BEEN LIKE A YEAR SINCE I UPDATED 
> 
> Quick explanation, I started college and tried out a Creative Writing major. It burnt me out so bad, I didn't write hardly at all during my entire first year of college. Since quitting said major and pursuing a teaching career instead, my creative muse came back somehow?? so woop woop here's chapter 11 after like forever
> 
> sorry if there are grammar mistakes or whatever I just wanted to get this damn thing out so
> 
> ENJOY
> 
> FINALLY
> 
> Oh, by the way. I started a new fic (yeah, THAT much inspiration came back) called No Rain. It's a Dirk/Jane (note the N in Jane is an N and not a K) fanfiction. Rated E of course. Check it out if you're interested! http://archiveofourown.org/works/831267

You end up waiting for the better half of an hour, rolling over again and again on the floor and alternating between staring at the wall and the ceiling. You’re freezing cold but you really can’t find it in you to care. The people that pass you in the hallway offer you nothing more than a bewildered look, and you’re half afraid that someone’s going to call the cops. That fear fades after a while, however. You scoff. Nobody gives a flying fuck about you, why would they bother calling the police?

“Strider?”

You’re just beginning to doze when you hear his voice, that stupidly beautiful Australian/English accent and the sound of approaching boots. You lift your head slowly to look at him and there’s a split second when your eyes meet before Jake rushes to you and kneels down.

He looks shocked but for once, he has nothing to say. Just takes up your bags and unlocks his door before pulling you to your feet and helping you stumble into his apartment. Still, he says nothing as he drops your shit carelessly on the floor and half-drags, half-carries you to the bathroom, where he begins to strip you down. There’s not a thing sexual or weird about it; the way he grabs you is purely out of concern and not lust. You stand naked, shivering, as he turns from you and cranks up the hot water. He makes sure you get your freezing ass into the shower and then doesn’t even bother closing the door on the way out.

You end up overheating in the shower and, feeling nauseous, you have to sit down on the floor of the bathroom for a while as the room spins. Grasping the toilet, you breathe carefully, knowing that one wrong move and you’d be blowing chunks everywhere. You’re vaguely aware of Jake moving around in the kitchen: you can hear pots and pans moving around and-

Your body hitches and your abdomen clenches upwards and you’re spilling it, vomiting weakly into the toilet. The pots and pans stop moving and a few moments later, Jake is there, draping a towel over your shoulders and holding your wet locks of hair back.

“…Holy Christ on a cracker, are you sick?” he asks once you’re finished and have flushed the toilet. You laugh (it sounds more like a croak) and shake your head.

“Damn, I missed your stupid idioms. No, I’m not sick, that shower was too long and too hot and my body’s trying to cool me down or whatever. It happens sometimes when I forget that my body can’t be exposed to the fiery flames of Mordor for too long.”

Your reference to Lord of the Rings makes Jake’s tensed body calm down a little.

“Alright then. As long as you’re okay. Well, of course you’re not okay, but… do you want something to eat?”

“Let me brush my teeth first and get dressed. Damn, English.”

Jake leaves you alone while you dry yourself off and brush your teeth using a spare brush that Jake had set out for you. Once your mouth is free of disgusting vomit-flavor, you wrap the towel around your waist and go to the living room, where English had left your bags. There, you lean down and grab some clothes, which you toss onto the armrest of the couch. You shed your towel and pull on a pair of briefs, the waistband just going over the globes of your ass when you happen to look over your shoulder at Jake, who is leaning against the doorway.

“Enjoying the show?” you ask wryly, looking away again.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you, so your convenient drop-by here is pretty uncanny. But first thing’s first, what in the name of Stephen E. King happened?” Jake asks, his face turning a bit pink now that he realizes exactly what he’s watching. He turns away and you sigh, getting back to pulling up a pair of pants.

“Now you’re just trying too hard to incorporate the names of bestselling authors into the shit you say.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Jake I really don’t feel like discussing it. Forget it.”

“Dirk!”

You have about a moment’s warning before a hand is turning you around. You just barely have your shirt over your neck, so Jake awkwardly releases you so you can pull it on the rest of the way. He furrows his bushy eyebrows at you and looks seriously at your eyes. You put your shades on, forcing him to break eye contact.

“Look, I’m not the smartest bloke in the world. I’m not a gentleman either. Well, maybe I am sometimes. And hell, I’d slap down a hundred buckaroonies right now and bet you that in some universe I am brain damaged to all hell and that I don’t really understand half the shit that happens in any given moment. But by golly, I’m telling you now that in this universe I am as aware as I’ll ever be. I’m stupid and I’m ignorant and I probably dismiss people’s feelings a lot and I’ll be damned if I don’t hate my own tush for it, but I don’t want that to be all you see in me, I can’t let you see only that. And you sitting here telling me to just ‘forget’ it when something terrible has obviously happened to you hurts, because you’re implying that I don’t care… wait, no, I’m not… I’m not trying to make this about me. I don’t want you to feel like rubbish because you think you’re… wait-”

You’re staring up at Jake in shock until he backs off a little and becomes self conscious of his own words. Your face cracks open into a smile and you laugh softly. Jake relaxes a bit and puts his hands on your shoulders, rubbing softly.

“You have no idea how friggin’ relieved I am to see that smile. Now c’mon, take a seat real quick, Strider, c’mon,” Jake says, pulling you down onto the couch with him. “I’ve got chicken noodle soup cooking in the kitchen, so we can watch a movie when it’s ready. But for now, tell me what’s wrong. Please.”

You shrug, not wanting to admit anything.

“Okay. Don’t flip your shit or whatever, okay? Me and Bro, er, Dane, we got in a huge fight about financial stuff and I guess he kinda told me to get out of the house-”

“ _He kicked you out?!_ ”

“I told you not to flip out!” you exclaim. Jake shuts up but looks flabbergasted all the same. “Okay? I knew it was coming. There’s… well, there has always been a lot of tension between me and him. We have a lot of differing viewpoints on a lot of shit, and, uh, well, sometimes I feel like he sees me as a failure. Like, I’m not as strong as Dave and I’m not the best at strifing and I’d rather build things, locked up in my room to create and discover rather than smacking each other with shitty ass swords. We used to be a lot closer when we had that super successful online puppet store? Like we bonded over that shit, but then… yeah. Anyway, we just got in a fight and I need someplace to crash for a couple days or so. And…”

“Of course it’s okay, I’m happy… absolutely ecstatic, really, that I was the first person you came to,” Jake says with a smile, rubbing your arm. “You can stay as long as you need.”

“Don’t call the police,” you blurt. Jake frowns.

“I wouldn’t. Dave needs Dane right now. Unless… is Dane an immediate danger to him?”

“No,” you say without hesitation. “It’s between me and him only. I was afraid at first, but on the bus ride over here I thought about it and yeah. Dave’s going to keep in touch with me as well, so if anything goes wrong, I’ve got my phone and shit.”

“Good,” Jake says, visibly relaxing yet again. Now that he’s calmed down, you watch as he leans back against the back of the couch and looks up at the ceiling. “Well I don’t mean to turn the tables on you here, but I have been meaning to have a word with you, Strider. Mostly about… recent happenings.”

You frown and look down at your lap, nodding slightly.

“Yeah. I’ve been wanting to talk to you too. You go first.”

“Well first of all, my head’s kinda screwy, like I said before,” Jake begins. You chuckle slightly at that and his lips quirk up into a half-smile. “And I don’t think I had my head on quite straight when I um. Well. Kissed you. I’ve been all about this ‘I can’t do this with a minor’ nonsense, but the way my resolve crumbled so easily was shameful of me, and I apologize wholeheartedly, mate. Can you find it in your heart to forgive me?”

“There’s nothing to forgive,” you assure him. Jake shakes his head.

“No, I mean… my resolve completely…” he croaks. He scratches his neck. “Well, I was thinking about it. And thinking. I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about it, so much that I think that the ol’ noggin is completely fried. And I just wanted to say that I think I wanna give this uh… a shot. It’s a shot in the dark and I don’t know how good I’d be for you, but there’s obviously something about me that you fancy and I’m not about to deny another gentleman his um. His desires. Oh, good golly gracious-”

You feel like your heart is going to burst out of your chest and you don’t know how to react to the words coming out of Jake’s lips. Well, you want to kiss him, but you’re not sure if that’d be appropriate.

“I really just don’t understand what you see in me!” Jake blurts, staring hard at the coffee table. “I’ve never had a successful bloody relationship in all my life, nothing has lasted more than a month, and I don’t want to ruin your view on me because I’m a terrible person to date! Sometimes ladies seem to hate me for no reason I suppose, and- no, that’s not it. I really only pay attention to myself and I’m clueless as all hell, it’s shameful really. Not to mention my stamina isn’t… my sexual stamina…”

You blush at that and shake your head a little.

“Strider, I just don’t get it,” Jake sighs.

“Times like these are when I realize I don’t know much about you,” you admit, scratching your arm. You’re struggling to get the words out, since you’re starting to shake so hard. “I want to know more about you, I suppose. So far it’s been about the physical stuff rather than who you are as a person.”

“Should I be flattered?” Jake chuckles weakly.

“Not really. I’ve been pretty ignorant myself. And kind of taking control of everything and acting fucking retarded,” you sigh. “I’ve been thinking lately, too, and it just seems like I haven’t bothered to learn more about you. And it just seems that I’m treating you like a toy or another project of mine, or something stupid like that. And furthermore, the whole act of acting like this submissive little snot-nosed bitch has been incredibly manipulative of me as well, and I don’t think I have gone about this whole fiasco intelligently. Basically what I’m trying to say is that I’m going to stop trying to pick you apart piece by piece and appealing to each piece falsely, and that I’m going to start…”

“Acting human?” Jake suggests. You scrounge up a glare but it’s short-lived as Jake bursts into laughter, beautiful laughter, that has your heart clenching and your toes curling against the carpet. He then calms down and scratches at the back of his neck. “I must admit, Strider, I still have doubts about this whole thing. You’re still a minor--”

“How much do you expect me to change once I turn eighteen?” you ask, arching a brow over your shades. “I’ll be eighteen in less than a year, Jake. Do you think my choice rump is going to suddenly flash the neon ‘open’ sign and invite you in with free booze and hot wings? That my nipples will go from deadly poison to succulent strawberry tips? What do you honestly expect to change from now until then?”

“W-Well, you didn’t have to-” Jake cuts himself off. Looking rather blown away by this turn of events, he fiddles with the buttons of his forest green cardigan. “…I guess I see your point, chum. It’s still strange to think about. And I’m dreadfully old!”

“Says someone who collects action figures in his bedroom,” you point out. Jake stiffens.

“How in the name of Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band did you find out about _that?_ ”

“That’s not an author. Also, The Beatles are overrated, so your question has been rendered invalid.”

“The Beatles were a pinnacle moment of rock and roll, thank you very much.”

“They were also not your generation’s music,” you counter, trying to fight the smile threatening to split your face. You fail miserably, and both of you are giving the other smarmy grins. “Excuse me, English, it seems that you have misplaced your fedora.”

Jake just laughs and stands, grabbing your hand as he does so. The small action, no matter how small or insignificant it can be, makes your whole body heat up. He pulls you out of the living room and into the hall, where the two of you duck into a side room. The darkness and sudden intimacy of it has you nearly blushing, but suddenly Jake turns on the lights and all you can do is laugh as the embarrassment floods out of you.

Comic books litter the floor and posters cover the entire wall from floor to ceiling, lovingly pressed to the wall with putty. Some of them are even framed. Lining the entire room, shelves crammed with carefully dusted action figures give the room a kiddish feel. You don’t even want to look at the bed. While it’s not a racecar bed like Dave had warned, the sheets are from Disney’s _Cars_. Lightning McQueen looks up at your sympathetically from the mattress of a grown man.

“Jake, I think I know why your relationships didn’t last long. Did you try to have sex with a woman in here?” you ask teasingly, going to his bed and compulsively smoothing out the rumpled sheets.

“ _Cars_ was a wonderful film, Strider, and I refuse to let you out of this bedroom until you take back that comment!”

You just look over your shoulder at him with a smirk that has him blushing to his ears and clearing his throat. He tugs at his collar.

“My, it’s hot in here,” he says before conveniently changing the topic. He goes to his action figures and picks up a highly detailed _Iron Man_ figure. He presses a button and the voice of Robert Downey Jr. fills the quiet room with some snarky quip. “Ah yes, isn’t he just the most top-notch bloke you’ve ever laid eyes on? Or ears, in this case. He reminds me of you, kind of, have I ever mentioned that?”

“Probably,” you say, sitting down right on McQueen’s posse of rusties. “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“A genius, kind of an untidy fella, and a snarky bastard. All of the qualities of you,” English says affectionately. He passes you the action figure and you fiddle with his overly muscled arms.

“Except I don’t have a badass suit, and definitely no muscle,” you chuckle before handing the toy back to Jake, who sets it lovingly on the top shelf.

“Iron Man doesn’t either. Or should I say Tony Stark. A real string-bean if you ask me, who carefully guards his underlying self-hatred with a suit of armor!”

It startles you how surprisingly perceptive Jake can be. You spend five minutes being shocked out of words until Jake interrupts you and sits beside you on the bed. He pauses for a long time, his arm making these weird twitches and movements that makes you think he’s going to reach for you, but he doesn’t. His hands remain firmly planted on Lightning McQueen’s giant car face. Suddenly things are uncomfortable and quiet, and your brain churns at a million miles a minute trying to come up with something to say.

“You never gave me a proper answer,” Jake finally says, lifting his hands. Your heart starts pounding in your chest but he only folds his hands in his lap and twiddles his thumbs. You calm down but your heart never stops throbbing.

“Proper answer to what.”

It’s not a question.

“You know!” Jake says, almost whining. “…Like, if you… if you’re interested. In this. Being… a thing? Together.”

“Being a thing.”

“Yes.”

The both of you are silent again. Your superior brain is putting together a brilliant response to that, carefully formulating the perfect, most excellent words.

“Uh,” you choke, before shutting your stupid fucking mouth. Now your head is blank, and your brain is churning wildly to get back on track and off of the road to Tim-Buck-Too Stupid To Fucking Handle This Shit. You finally clear your throat and continue. “I don’t want you to feel obligated to do this.”

Jake chuckles, and for the first time, his fingers just barely brush the seam of your jeans as his hand slides over and his pinky runs up the side of your thigh. You fucking _shiver_.

“You spent all this time tempting me like this and _now_ you’re having doubts? You’re something else, Dirk,” he says, his words teasing but his tone gentle. “Trust me, I don’t just want this because you want this. I mean, that’s some of it. It is truly difficult for a gentleman such as myself to not fall victim to another’s desires after some time. But it’s also… well, you’re quite handsome and charming, if I could say so myself!”

He chokes out a laugh. His pinky never leaves the denim of your jeans.

“And when we kissed you downright trembled, Strider, and it was probably the most beautiful thing I’ve ever felt. It was… exhilarating. More exhilarating than the time I ziplined through the Amazon and damn near pissed myself because I was sure the clip was going to break. Don’t give me that look, I was eleven, and a whole lot of boy back then!” Jake says, patting his belly. You fucking giggle like an idiot and you want to off yourself for it. “But yes, I suppose what I’m trying to say is that I want this, too. I’m still unsure how you could honestly fall for me, because I can be quite the idiot sometimes.”

“I know,” you say. “I suppose my heart had a lapse in judgment.”

“I’ll say.”

Silence. You sit there for a long while, just picking at a hangnail on your thumb. You wish you had something to say. You wish you could give him a proper answer. It’s easy, either yes or no. But you can’t, you just can’t bring the words to your lips, and it seems like Jake is having just as much as a hard time coming up with something to talk about as you are.

“Why do you wear sunglasses all the time?” is what Jake comes up with, and the spontaneity of the question has you laughing your ass off. Jake smiles too, and once you calm down, you just shrug.

“I’m used to it, I guess. Once upon a time it was some stupid way to hide emotions? Dane is pretty anal about that, especially since he started wearing them after Mom and Dad left. Something about how he didn’t want people to know what he was feeling. But honestly? I just wear them because my eyes are pretty damn sensitive to the light with me being some half-albino freak, and also because they’re an ironic statement to the public. And maybe I think they look pretty damn cool.”

“You’re a dork, Mr. Strider,” Jake sighs. You just grin. “You think you’re a blank slate, but I can read your face like a picture book, even without those eyes! I think you Striders show much more emotion than you credit yourself for, so the whole ‘guarding’ thing with the glasses is… quite ridonkulous, if you ask me!”

“Spoiler alert, we think we’re badass when we’re really just a bunch of Texan dorks,” you say. It makes Jake laugh. You like it when Jake laughs.

“Absolutely correct.”

“To be honest, I’m so used to having them on that it’s kind of a subconscious way of shielding myself. Like a crutch,” you admit with a shrug. “So maybe Dane’s whole ‘nobody gets to see our precious emotions’ thing got to me after a while. I really don’t know why he acts like it’s such a big deal. Or me, for that matter.”

“Then why don’t you take them off?” Jake asks, and his voice sounds a little too eager for you not to be suspicious.

“Why?”

“Well…” he trails off. “Maybe I’d like to see them. I’ve gotten a few little glimpses here and there, and from what little I’ve seen, I think they’re quite spectacular.”

“My eyes are an ocean,” you mutter under your breath as you’re reminded of an inside joke between you and Roxy. Jake just gives you a weird look and you shrug. “Okay, I’m taking them off, then.”

“Allow me.”

And suddenly Jake’s hands are at the sides of your face. You shut your eyes, your light blonde lashes resting on your cheeks as your shades slide off of your face. You swallow and open your eyes to see Jake turned away from you to put your glasses on the side table. He turns back and just smiles fondly at you.

“Why does everyone have an eye fetish.”

Jake just laughs at you and reaches out, running his thumb along the shadows beneath your eye and cupping your cheek in his palm. His opposite hand rests on your knee and slowly trails up your thigh, making you quiver and claw at the bedspread below you.

“I like it when you shake like that,” Jake sighs. He then grimaces. “Oh, blimey, that didn’t sound creepy, did it?”

“Just a little,” you breathe. You quickly continue. “But it’s okay. It’s… yeah…”

You shut your eyes and exhale as you go into sensory overload. All your life you just hated to be touched, especially by people outside of your family. School usually ended up being a disaster, especially during switching times when everyone was crowding into the hall, touching you, bumping you relentlessly and putting you on your maximum guard.

But Jake seems to realize this (again, his strange spurts of awareness and good perception sends your head reeling) and strokes your leg in a repetitive and predictable way, making you relax and lean into his touch. His hand on your cheek moves back to run his fingers through the downy, un-sprayed hair resting on your neck. You’re somewhat ticklish there, so you recoil ever so slightly and his hands pause for a moment. You give a whine of protest and he’s chuckling, low and hot right in your ear and oh god how did he get that close without you knowing.

Your eyes flutter open and there he is, his eyes now shut and his lips advancing and now holy shit you’re kissing him. No, he’s kissing you, and you’re sitting there like a stupid limp noodle. Tentatively, you kiss him back, and you moan like a blushing virgin. Which you are. You’re lighting up like a Christmas tree but you don’t care anymore, you don’t give a shit about how you’re literally the most uncool thing to ever grace this planet and that you’re going against everything you said about not wanting to act submissive anymore.

The way Jake’s kissing you makes you want to rip your clothes off, and you nearly do. Except suddenly the two of you are falling over and he’s on his hands and knees above you, locking you in with strong thighs and a hand planted on the sheets on either side of your head. You want to turn your head away but then you’re going to be looking straight into the eyes of Mater the rusty pickup truck and god damn you want to cry because you’re being topped by a fucking dork like Jake English.

“Haha, I’ll change the sheets, alright?” Jake sighs breathlessly. You look up and realize his cheeks are also flushed bright pink. It makes you feel a tad better. “I have Star Wars sheets, too.”

You whine even louder and Jake just laughs at you before coming down and capturing your complaints with his lips. Resting on his elbows now, his fingers wrap around your wrists and hold them in place as he kisses you.

In the silence of the room, all that can be heard is the sound of your lips sliding together and the occasional pop as the two of you resurface to catch a breath before diving back in. You feel his tongue poke at your bottom lip and you don’t… quite know how to react, exactly? So you just sort of pinch your lips together more. After a moment, Jake pulls away and laughs.

“How do you expect me to snog you properly if you’re holding your mouth closed like that?” Jake teases. You open your eyes and for a moment, Jake looks stricken.

“…What?” you croak. Jake clears his throat.

“You… look… very inviting, is all. And I feel like a creep. You’re sure you want this, Strider?”

“Of course,” you murmur, flexing your fingers. Jake’s holding onto your wrists a little too tightly and it has your joints tingling unpleasantly. You don’t really mind, though. “Yes. Please, go on.”

Jake swallows heavily and nods, this time freeing one of your wrists to take your chin in his hand and ease your mouth open. His lips press to yours and suddenly his tongue slips in and… oh. _Oh._

This. This feels…

Your body goes numb and tingly all over and your free hand flies up to grasp his side. He lets go of your other hand and it too goes directly to him, gripping his shirt as hard as your fingers can manage. _Fuck._

You try to fight it but you can feel your pants growing tighter and an unbearable heat pooling in your abdomen. Your kisses become erratic and you’re breathing hard through your nose and your stomach begins tying itself in knots. Rubbing your legs together, you start panting through your mouth and your tongues meet even without the contact of your lips.  Your brain’s gears are turning so fast that there is an error in the machine and everything jams and you’re groaning loudly into his mouth and your hips cant upwards and brush against him and it’s all over.

Tearing away from his lips, you let out a cry and abruptly cum right in your pants, your cock twitching in its cloth confines as you make a complete mess of yourself. When you finish, you go limp on the bed and cover your eyes in embarrassment. Jake, still panting, is the first to speak.

“Did… did you just?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Without even…?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Wow.”

“Sorry.”

“Cripes, why are you sorry for Christ’s sake?”

You lower your hand from your eyes and gaze up at him. He’s giving you a genuinely confused look. Then, he grins.

“I’m just happy that… I could make you feel like that.”

“Oh, so you’re glad I could feed your ego?” you ask sarcastically. Jake nods his head like a moron. “Right, then.”

It gets uncomfortable again before Jake coughs awkwardly.

“Uh…” he trails off. “Well, it seems I’m in a bit of a pickle, now.”

You tilt your head and he just looks down. Following his gaze, you swallow and your heart goes right to your throat. A prominent bulge has developed in his shorts, and you realize with a pleasant tingle that he had been just as into this as you were.

“What do you want to do about it?” you ask hesitantly. Stupid.

“I suppose just take care of it?” Jake asks. He sits back, still sitting on your thighs (he’s heavy but you don’t say anything) as he starts unbuckling his belt. You gulp and he looks up. “Um. I suppose I’ll… just… go to the bathroom, then.”

You nod and let him, but the moment the door closes you regret not offering to help out. You wait uncomfortably on the bed, just lying there for a long time, before you hear the toilet flush almost a fucking half hour later. You look up as Jake re-enters the room, looking flushed and sweaty from his very long beat-off session.

“I thought your sexual stamina was…?” you begin. Jake scratches his head and just laughs nervously.

“Uh, no. It’s not… um, it’s ridiculously and frightfully long. My stamina, that is,” he corrects hurriedly. “I um. Well, ladies I’ve been with kept yelling at me to stop stabbing their uterus or whatever and get on with it. And that they just wanted to sleep. And not. Yeah. It’s… that’s not what you were expecting, was it?”

You realize you’re staring at him with your jaw hanging open and you quickly snap it shut.

“Um, you could say that. When you told me about the sexual stamina thing, I thought you meant you were a Pistol Pete,” you say. Jake gives you a confused look. “That is, you don’t last long at all.”

“It should be something I’m proud of but I’m not,” Jake says. “Some men dream of having wild and jokingly large amounts of stamina but it’s not all a walk through the meadow. I mean sure, I was great in bed for the first bit but then they’d be spent and I’d be… not even halfway through, and it’d be awkward because she’d think she wasn’t good enough, and then I’d say something stupid and get slapped, and ultimately, kicked to the curb. It’s quite sad, really! I was with a bigger woman with more stamina once and I made a stupid comment about how I was happy about her size and I still got kicked out!”

You raise an eyebrow as he sits down on the edge of the bed and looks down at you.

“I apologize, mate, you probably didn’t want to hear all of that mumbo-jumbo,” he says with a chuckle. You shake your head.

“Nah, I didn’t, but hey, I know more about you now,” you say, attempting to lift Jake’s mood. It works. He smiles and reaches down to cup your cheek. You can smell soap on his hand and you’re glad he washed up after finishing up in the bathroom.

“Hey.”

“Yes?”

“You still haven’t given me an answer, Strider. Am I going to have to wrestle it out of you with some good ol’ fashioned fisticuffs?”

You laugh before giving a small nod.

“Yeah… I think I could give this a shot, actually,” you say. “This whole cheesy romance business.”

“Oh please,” Jake scoffs. “Don’t try to be coy with me now. I know for a fact that you have me exactly where you want me.”

You just smirk and shut your eyes, feeling happy and sated and nervous all at the same time. Also, you have jizz in your pants, which isn’t quite so comfortable. You can ignore it for a few more minutes, however.

“So. Boyfriends. Are we going to wear matching sweaters and buy a dog?” you ask jokingly. Jake lies down beside you, propping his head up on his palm and putting a hand on your belly.

“What a strange term, boyfriends,” Jake comments thoughtfully. “It feels foreign.”

“Good foreign or bad foreign?”

“…Very good, I must admit. But Dirk… I’m still quite apprehensive about all this, so you’re going to have to help me through this jungle. I haven’t exactly traversed this sort of thing often and it’s most certainly not mapped out, if you know what I mean.”

“Well don’t worry, because I have the treasure map and you will soon… you know what, I’m above putting a hilarious euphemism here. I’m not Dave.”

Jake barks out a laugh and smacks your belly, making you choke out a lungful of air. Jake apologizes breathlessly while you wheeze to try and catch your breath. You then feel his lips on the side of your mouth in a chaste kiss.

“I trust you, Strider,” he says. “And even though I still-”

Quite suddenly, the fire alarm goes off and the two of you nearly jump out of your skin. Jake runs out of the room yelling something about the soup, and you wonder just how the fuck anyone can burn soup enough so that it sets the alarm off.

You’re in for a bumpy ride.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAHA YOU EXPECTED ME TO DROP OFF THE FACE OF THE PLANET FOR ANOTHER TEN MONTHS DIDN'T YOU
> 
> well jokes on you bitches here's chapter 12

Jake ends up simply bringing home Chinese takeout, much to your relief. The two of you eat silently, and you can’t help but feeling like a newlywed with the way you can’t quite look Jake in the eye. You keep your shades off because Jake insists that you look better without them. Besides, it’s nice and dimly lit in his home and it doesn’t agitate your eyes at all. You suppose you can live without them for a little while, anyway.

Halfway through your meal, your phone rings in your pocket. You tense up and so does Jake, who stares at you from across the table. Holding your breath, you pull it out of your pocket and relax upon seeing it’s only Dave. You pick up.

“Yo.”

There’s an obviously relieved sigh from the other end and you smile a little.

_“Hey, man. I didn’t think you were going to pick up, what with you being with the sasquatch.”_

“You mean English? Nah, of course not. I wouldn’t blow you off. What’s up? Is everything cool?”

 _“Real cool, man. Chill as fuck. Chill as ice cream, dog. Bro brought home some McDonald’s for me and him. And some for you too, like, he thought you were going to come back and he looked mad disappointed when he didn’t see you when he got back. He’s locked up in his room now but he’s not drinking, all the booze is in the kitchen still. I all up and counted that shit, like a good little angel,”_ Dave rambles. You lean your head on your fist and smile a little.

“Well, I’m glad for that, then.”

_“Dude, you know what else?”_

“Yeah?”

 _“I hear his sewing machine running,”_ Dave says, and he sounds like a strange mix between happy and freaked out. A grin cracks your face open.

“Seriously? That’s great! So he’s not taking the gig tonight?”

_“No. He said something about having bigger fish to fry and when he brought me McDonald’s I noticed he had a bag of fabric with him. I think he’s going to try the whole puppet business aga-”_

You hear a slam on Dave’s end and you can hear the slight panic in Dave when his breathing quickens.

 _“Yo, li’l man, check this out,”_ a distant voice says. Dave lets out a not-too-masculine shriek.

_“What in the fuck is that?!”_

_“A smuppet, shithead. Look, the nose bends an’ all that. I could make mad bucks on this, yeah?”_

_“The nose looks like a fucking dick, man.”_

“ _That’s the fuckin’ point,”_ Bro says. “ _Who’re you talkin’ to, is it Dirk?”_

His voice sounds hopeful and you realize you're not quite ready to talk to him again, so your thumb ghosts along the ‘end call’ button. However, you don’t get the chance as you suddenly hear Bro breathing on the other end.

_“Dirk?”_

“…Hey,” you finally answer. Has your voice always been this small?

_“You at Jake’s?”_

“Yes.”

_“And you’re gay?”_

You swallow.

“Yeah. Kind of. It’s a long story. I don’t know.”

_“Is he gay?”_

“…Fuck, dude, I don’t know that.”

_“You sound like you hooked up.”_

“Dude.”

_“You did.”_

It’s not a question. You gulp again.

“Yes.”

A heavy sigh on the other end.

“ _I don’t like this, li’l man, not one bit_ ,” Bro says. Your fist clenches on the phone.

“It’s not about what you like,” you say boldly. He’s quiet for a second.

_“Do you hate me?”_

“No.”

_“Will you come home?”_

“Not yet.”

_“Why?”_

“Because.”

Such little words are being spoken but it’s intense and quick, and you know one wrong move could have him over at Jake’s house and hauling your ass back home for a good ol’ fashioned strife session. But suddenly Jake is there, his hand on the back of your neck and massaging gently, stroking your hair. Your fear leaves you and you take a breath.

“I’m not like you or Dave,” you say, glancing up at Jake. He nods. “I can defend myself and I’m strong, but not as strong as you two. I’m not built for a whole bunch of strife. I want to build things and create things, and there’s nothing college can teach me that I can’t teach myself, and that is a cold, hard fact, motherfucker. Dave can be taught things, like how to properly handle a camera and how to direct a movie and how to create ill music. He could probably teach himself too, but there are simply some technical things that he can’t learn by himself. But me, I can build a fucking computer out of a paper clip and the zipper off my jeans. That in itself should have the government at our doorstep this second, on their hands and knees to hire me. And when I can afford the proper equipment, I can build even greater things. Putting myself in the hole further by shoving a massive college debt straight up my asshole will not help. You just gotta trust me. Just because you think I’m not as brawny as you and Dave doesn’t mean I’m not intellectually up to par with Albert fucking Einstein.”

You’ve never been such a cocky little shit with Bro before and it’s filling you with self-pride and a sense of… maturity? Manhood? You feel like your penis grew three sizes that day.

“I’m a genius, Bro, and I promise you that college will do nothing to help me. At all,” you say with finality. Jake is squeezing and massaging your shoulders and nothing has ever felt so good. Bro is silent on the other line.

 _“I didn’t know you felt that way,”_ he finally says. His voice is quiet and you let out a huge sigh.

“I’ve never had the balls to say it,” you admit. You quickly add, “And you were too much of an ass to listen.”

Bro laughs on the other end.

“ _Maybe I thought you were gonna follow my footsteps ‘cuz of the whole puppet thing, y’know?_ ” he asks. “ _Like, we used to be tight, man.”_

“I know.”

“ _And I guess I feel like I’m losin’ you too fast and that it’s soon gonna be me depending on you. I want to be who our parents weren’t. Supportive. And I guess all this holdin’ onto you and naggin’ you about this has been the complete opposite of what I want to do,”_ Bro sighs. He takes a breath. “ _Alright, tell’ya what. You stay at Jake’s because… well, I think we both need a breather from each other for a bit. And… it seems like you’re happy being there right now, anyway.”_

You smile a little as Jake continues gently rubbing your shoulders and kissing the top of your head.

“ _But I’m still not too sure about the gay thing_ ,” he says slowly, which makes you tense up. “ _But that’s just the southern blood in me, I think. You know how conservative some of us can be, heh. But… if anything, I’m relieved that it’s English. And not some… I don’t know. Pedophile. Drug addict. Whatever word you want. Basically what I’m trying to say is that I’m cool with whatever, man. If you like dicks in your ass then that’s not my problem. I’m not gonna force what I personally don’t like down your throat. No innuendo intended.”_

You laugh.

_“Whatever makes your dick hard, man.”_

“Thanks.”

“ _Yep. Later_.”

“Bye.”

With that, you hang up and take a deep breath, all of the intensity of the situation finally taking its toll on you and making you slump forward on the kitchen table. Jake massages you until your shoulders get sore and you whine, and then he laughs.

“So?” Jake asks. You weakly put up a thumbs-up sign and Jake kisses your knuckles. “Wonderful!”

“I feel lost now,” you finally admit. “I don’t have anything to stress about.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Jake asks with a soft laugh. You shrug.

“I don’t know. Stress usually pushes me along and well… without it I guess I just feel like I have nothing to work for.”

Jake tugs lightly on your arm and you stand, letting him lead you to the living room, where he flops down on the couch and lets you drape yourself across him. With your head propped up on the headrest, Jake strokes your side through your shirt.

“Well, I can give you some things to stress about, if you’d like,” Jake says, smiling. “Like the fact that I have _Cars_ sheets. Oh, and also we’re going to have to tell Jane about this whole thing.”

You groan loudly. Yup, you feel stressed again.

“Is that better?” Jake laughs. You just groan again. “And… well, as you know, I’m heading off for uh. For the army, soon. Bootcamp starts again this summer. And actually, I think we’ll be departing a few days before your birthday.”

You roll onto your side so your nose is buried in Jake’s armpit. He smells like Old Spice.

“Too much stress,” you murmur. He just laughs softly and pets your side.

“There, there, Strider.”

The two of you are silent for a long time before you get uncomfortable in your position and pull Jake down. With his back pressed to the back of the couch, you lie down beside him, facing him with your face buried in his chest. Jake puts on a movie to take away the boredom, but it’s on very low volume, enough so that you can hear his heartbeat. His hand continues to stroke your side and back, then leaves to reach up and pull down the knitted blanket draped on the back of the sofa. With the two of you wrapped up in a cocoon of warmth, you murmur unintelligibly and curiously touch his chest.

“I was thinking about dating you for a long time, I must admit,” Jake says after a while. The statement makes you look up.

“Why do you say that?” you ask. Jake shrugs with one shoulder.

“Well, I suppose it might have seemed a bit rushed to you today. You know, since I asked you to be my boyfriend and everything! All of the tension came rushing forward and I guess I just felt a little guilty for that! So before I even knew your feelings for me, I was already… I guess you could say I was already thinking about it. Considering and such. In fact, you being a minor is only half of the problem! Your brother can be quite intimidating, I must say, that was a big problem. And you’re… well…”

“I’m what?” you ask sharply.

“Oh golly I don’t know how to put this,” Jake says. He pulls at his collar. “Well… the truth is… I’m big and you’re small!”

Silence.

“You wanna run that by me again motherfucker?”

“I don’t mean it in a bad way!” Jake whines, distressed. He tousles his hair and gulps. “It’s just a fact. I’m a big guy and you’re young and I’m… what if I break you?”

“You mean during sex?”

“ _Yes_ during the mattress romping!”

“Hm,” you say, pondering his words for a long time. “Care to put that to the test, English?”

He splutters and you smirk, pushing yourself up so you can roll him onto his back. You straddle his hips and his eyes immediately go dark. He mutters a few curses under his breath and cautiously rests his hands upon your hips. You don’t really know what to do at first, so you just hold your breath and shift your hips forward.

“Mm,” Jake hums. You stop and his eyelids flutter. “Strider have I mentioned that your arse is friggin’ fantastic?”

“Excuse me?” you ask. You give another experimental roll of your hips and he grits his teeth.

“Ahh… I mean, it’s just so bloody… fuckin’ dazzling, y’know? Ah, shit, do that again-”

So he apparently likes grinding and the cowgirl position. Fucking incredible. You take note of this so you can do later calculations on how exactly you’re going to take advantage of this, then nibble the inside of your lip as you give a particularly good grind. Jake gasps sharply and you can feel him hardening and pressing up between your legs. You respond in kind, of course, panting softly as your hardon comes back with renewed force and aches to be released from your skinny jeans.

“You’re sure you’re… ready?” Jake asks between groans. His thumbs dig into your thighs. “St-Strider, there isn’t a lot… of logic… to this… shit, c-calm down for a second so I c-can talk… Dirk-”

You lean down and fist his collar in your hands, drawing your lips up close to his ear.

“Fuck me.”

Your world spins as Jake grabs you, sits up, and lifts you. You’re slung over his shoulder and he heads towards the bedroom, but-

“Not in the bedroom, Jesus fuck, if I get my ass plowed and Mater is staring at me the whole time my dick is going to fall off!”

Jake sharply turns away from his bedroom door then, goes down the hall, and kicks open the door to another bedroom. You assume it’s the guest bedroom because the bags you had earlier are parked in here and there’s a bunch of boxes and shit on top of the bed, which is only a twin-sized mattress. With one arm, Jake holds your thighs while you drape yourself over his shoulder (and get a double handful of his ass) and, with one sweep of his free arm, sends all of the shit on the bed to the floor. He tosses you down and the bed creaks in protest. You’re barely recovered when Jake is on you again, panting harshly in your ear and grinding hard against you. He’s acting like a fucking animal and if you said you weren’t a little intimidated, you’d be lying. But the majority of this is only making you horny, so you prop yourself up on one elbow and hook yourself on his neck with the other so you can pull him in for a kiss.

God damn.

You’re about to get fucked by the man of your dreams. You honestly expected to be more calm and cool about this? But there really isn’t anything cool about the way you’re mewling into his mouth and grabbing desperately at his shirt like a child would a toy. When his tongue barges into your mouth you can’t hold back the surprised moan-slash-squeal that escapes you.

When he’s done thoroughly tonguefucking your lips, he sits up and, panting, tears off his cardigan and his shirt. You sit up a little to do the same, getting tangled a bit in your own clothes before they join the growing pile on the floor. Jake pauses to get a look at you, tracing his fingertips over your jutting ribs and your belly, which is still in the filling out process. Shuffling down your body, he holds you by the hips while he rolls a nipple under his first two fingers. You wince when he tweaks it and plays with it, pulling gently before releasing it and letting it snap back into place.

“Dunno if I’m really into-” you begin, but he just gives you a look, lowers his head, and takes your swollen nipple between his teeth. He holds it steady while the tip of his tongue darts back and forth across it, each tiny tingle going straight to your crotch and Jesus fucking Christ why aren’t your pants off yet. You sling your arm over your eyes while you pant and moan so you don’t have to watch Jake playing with your tits like you’re a woman. You really should’ve put more research into this because it’s fucking ridiculous how much you’re learning about your own body from Jake English.

“Sensitive, eh?” he purrs. You regret looking at him because he’s licking his way down your body.

“Stop being such a fucking sex diva and fuck me already.”

“Mm, no can do,” he murmurs. The cool confidence in his voice has you shaking. What? Jake’s not allowed to be superior at this! He’s not allowed to be smooth as butter, pure sex and pheromones dripping from his body that has you in heat like a stupid cat. He’s Jake English, dork extraordinaire, and you have a reputation to uphold.

“Jake,” you growl. You sit up and try to grab him, but he roughly grabs your wrists and shoves you back down again, pinning you down with your arms over your head. The lust in his eyes fades a bit.

“Habit,” he says. “I’m afraid I can’t allow you to be in charge here, Dirk. After all, you’re the virgin.”

He chuckles while you splutter and struggle underneath him. He leans down and licks your neck, making you shudder and moan.

“Give me a safe word.”

“Wha-”

“A safe word,” Jake repeats. “I’m being rough with you because I assumed you wanted it!”

He lightens his hold on your wrists ever so slightly while you fight to catch your breath.

“I don’t fucking know, man, how about… creamsicles.”

“Creamsicles?”

“Yeah.”

“Creamsicles it is,” Jake murmurs. He continues working your neck, now a bit gentler than he had before. His hands slide down your bare arms, down your ribcage, and to your waist. You whine softly as he sucks on your adam’s apple and brushes against your hip bones. When he pulls away you protest weakly, but quickly groan with appreciation as he starts unbuttoning your pants and sliding the zipper down. There’s a long, pregnant pause before he hooks his fingers in your jeans and underwear and slip them off of your body.

Now you’re naked below him and you feel smaller than you ever have before, ashamed of your flushed red cock standing at full attention and leaking from the tip. Jake traces his finger along the underside and you arch your back with need.

“You’re gorgeous,” you vaguely hear Jake murmur. “You’re beautiful, Dirk.”

You’ve never heard a man call another man beautiful before so, naturally, you grumble back at him. He chuckles lightly and dances his fingers over the thin, wispy hairs leading down to your clean shaven cock. You take pride in cleanliness, and shaving is no exception.

“Roll over for me, love?”

You nod stupidly and roll onto your stomach, only to gasp and moan as Jake takes your hips and raises them. He nudges apart your legs to expose more of yourself to him. You hear him let out a shaking sigh behind you.

“It’s all shaved,” he says adoringly. You gulp.

“Just for you, honeybunches,” you try to say smoothly but it ends up coming out in a mumbled, jagged mess. He strokes your taint with his first knuckles and you keen softly at him before looking over your shoulder. “You gonna just play with my ass or what?”

He ignores you.

“Have you cleaned?” he asks gently. You squint at him before you flush bright red.

“I’m very thorough with my showers, I assure you.”

“Good. Wait here, Strider, and don’t move a muscle,” Jake says, slapping your ass and making you yelp before getting up and exiting the room. You sit there awkwardly with your face down and your ass up, feeling kind of stupid. You’re glad it’s mostly dark in here, save for the light from the hall.

Jake comes back a few minutes later with a few things bundled in his hands. You squint to try and get a closer look.

“Just lube and a few rubbers,” Jake says. He sits on the bed and begins unbuckling his belt. You watch as he pulls it slowly from the loops, then sit up slightly as he stands and unbuttons his pants. Swallowing hard, you sit back on your heels and watching him pull his pants and boxers down.

His cock springs from its confines and you have to bite your tongue to keep from making a comment. It’s thick. It’s long. It’s pretty much everything you estimated it would be, pretty much everything everyone thought it would be, and completely and utterly cliché for this type of story. You’re sure if there was some creep author out there somewhere writing about your kinky, private experiences, they really wouldn’t care because fuck yeah big dicks are awesome.

Right, you’re about to get fucked.

“You look impressed,” Jake says. He’s smirking, the little shit.

“Should I be?” you bite back, but your eyebrows rise as he takes your chin in his hand and brings you forward. The tip of his dick presses gently against the swell of your lips.

“Won’t you, Strider?”

You feign annoyance but to be completely honest you’ve been dreaming of sucking his cock for months like the little gay twink you are, so you don’t waste any time opening your lips.

“Mm,” Jake hums. He smiles as he eases your mouth open wider so the very tip of him can get in your mouth. You shift, trying to get your tongue in the right position and drooling like an idiot. “Breathe through your nose.”

You obey him and things become a bit easier as you close your lips around him and run your tongue over the slit. It doesn’t taste like anything special. It doesn’t taste bad, either. It tastes like skin and salt. You just kind of experiment a little, getting a taste for English cock. You sort of expected to have a distinct, special smell. Like pine needles and sassafras. He smells like a horny man.

You pull away from his cock so you can run the tip of your tongue up and down the underside. You swirl around the head a little and you look up at him. This is what they do in gay porn right? God you’re such a fucking hypervirgin.

“You’re doing swell,” Jake says. His voice is a little strained. “But I think we can learn more about that later.”

You blink up at him as he gently pulls you away and holds your shoulder. A trail of drool is coming down the side of your chin and you’re pretty sure you look like an idiot. Jake just gives you a grin and eases you back down into your position from before, with your face down and your ass up. He gets behind you and you listen to the sound of the cap opening on the lube. You swallow.

“You’ve… you’ve done this before?” you ask softly. “Just to clarify.”

“Not with a man. With women, yes. I’m uh… I’m quite attracted to rumps, if I could say so myself.”

“So you’ve…?”

“Had anal sex? Of course. You’re in good hands, Dirk. I’ve got you.”

He strokes your ass cheek and you realize you’ve been shaking. With his thumb, he spreads you open before his cold fingertips prod against you. It’s not too hard to relax yourself since you’ve explored every inch of your body in your legendary showers, and your asshole is certainly no exception. You take a deep breath and exhale as one of his fingers slip inside of you with practiced ease.

“Doing alright?” Jake asks. He squeezes your ass and caresses your thighs.

“Mmm, yes,” you murmur back. The initial weirdness of the intrusion fades quickly and is replaced with the first inklings of pleasure which send tiny bolts of electric through your body. He doesn’t tease you and make you beg, but instead starts searching for your prostate almost immediately. You’re sure to let him know when he finds it by letting out a gasp and a moan. “Right there.”

“Heheh,” Jake chuckles softly, running his finger slowly around the walnut-sized lump of nerves inside of you, pleasuring you as much as he can. He only stops to add a second finger, which is definitely welcome. “You’re taking this like a champ, Strider.”

“I’m not a China doll,” you say sarcastically, which earns you a curl of his fingers. You cry out loudly and he just does it again and again until you’re practically sobbing with pleasure. “Feels really good, please-”

“Hmm?”

“I want it,” you pant, pushing back against his fingers. He slowly pulls his fingers out and you start chanting ‘yes’ and his name. You hear the tear of a condom wrapper and Jake hissing as he rolls it on. A second later, you hear the cap of the lube popping open again and you look over your shoulder to watch Jake apply it liberally to his dick. You raise your hips even more and bite your lip.

“You’re sure you’re ready?” Jake asks again. You groan impatiently.

“Yes, Jesus fuck!”

He’s silent now as he spreads you nice and open. You bury your face in the sheets, trying to control your pounding heart. When Jake starts pressing against you and moving himself so he’s aligned with your hole, you moan softly to urge him to go faster. He keeps himself steady as he slowly begins to push in, push in, push in-

Oh.

Oh fuck.

Your eyes snap open. This isn’t right. Is it supposed to burn like that?

You man up because you’re not a pussy and grit your teeth as Jake’s cock forces you open more and more. Everything aches something fierce and you’re pretty sure you’re going to die as he splits you open like an axe to a log of wood, carving himself into every inch of your being.

The head pops in and you’re fucking done.

You let out a broken sob, biting the sheets and ripping at them. Jake pauses for a long time, as if he’s waiting for something. What the fuck is he waiting for? Pull out!

He continues pushing in and you bellow into the sheets, why oh fuck why isn’t he pulling out oh shit you forgot the safe word.

“Marmalade! Popsicles! Fruit by the foot!” you shriek. Jake halts immediately and retreats, making you sob with relief. When he’s out, you sink onto the bed and lie there like the little pussy bitch you are. You’re a fucking pussy.

“Dirk!” Jake cries. He rolls you onto your side and you try to hide your face. The blood in your cock drained so fast back into your brain that you have a headache. Jake’s a limp noodle as well and the condom looks like a fucking sock on his junk. He holds your face in his hands, utterly and genuinely flipping the fuck out as he wipes your tears.

“I’m fine,” you say. You blink and smile weakly up at him. Your eyes are still watering and you have no fucking clue how vulnerable and anime you look right now. Jake, however, immediately backs the fuck up off of you and stands, pacing furiously.

“Never again,” he says gruffly. You sit up part way, trying to ignore the pain in your ass (literally) while you watch Jake yank his boxers and pants back on.

“What?” you ask.

“I’m never doing that again,” Jake snaps. He goes to you and lifts you up off the bed, cradling you like a newborn and taking you to the shower. There, he fills a bath and lowers you gently into it. “Dirk, I am so bloody sorry, I don’t have my noggin on straight. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

You kinda just sit back as he dotes on you and dabs your sweaty body with a loofah, dazed and confused.

“Wait,” you say simply. “So we’re not gonna fuck?”

“Absolutely not, heavens no!” Jake cries. “Dirk. You bled.”

“I was fucking bleeding? God damn, you destroyed me without even getting it in all the way!” you say, spreading your legs. Jake grabs them and yanks them shut, sending up a splash of water that hits his chest. The look he gives you is venomous.

“This is no time for your tomfoolery, Strider, I seriously hurt you and this is… this is friggin’ terrible, this is Stephanie Meyer terrible!”

“Don’t you dare compare failed sex to her atrocious vampire bullshit.”

“Dirk, I can’t… I can’t do this,” Jake chokes. “If I hurt you then I see no other choice, I can’t in a right mind date you if-”

“No,” you blurt, a little too sincerely for your tastes, but whatever. We’re talking about your boyfriend of about three hours here.

…Yeesh. You were going to fuck him before waiting at least twenty-four hours? Christ.

“Well then what do you suggest I do?” Jake asks angrily. “I should send you home. Get you away from me.”

“Jake seriously? I’ve bled more from taking massive shits than what you just did to me. Please try to keep your knickers unbunched.”

“My knickers are pleasantly straightened thank you very much!” Jake shouts. Before he can say any more, you reach out with soapy, bubbly arms and pull him in to kiss his lips in an attempt to show him just how much you don’t want to leave. His tensed shoulders relax ever so slightly and his hand reaches out to stroke your side. When you pull away, his gaze is darkened. “…I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” you assure him. You lean back in the tub, relaxing. The pain in your ass has dwindled to an occasional throb that anyone could handle. Well, maybe not Dave since he’d bitch about it all day, but definitely Bro. He’d probably call you a pussy bitch if he was here right now.

“We’re not having sex anymore,” Jake whispers. You just gaze expressionlessly down at the bubbles surrounding your bare waist. “I knew I was going to hurt you and I did it anyway.”

“I pressured you into it,” you point out.

“And I buckled. I care about you and I buckled like a stupid buffoon. It’s not going to happen again.”

“We’ll see about that.”

“Dirk!” Jake shouts. You jump and look away, eyes darkening. “Please, enough! I don’t want to hear anymore.”

You feel emotional. You want to cry but you don’t know what good that’ll do you, so you don’t. You want to touch Jake and apologize but he’s not angry at you, he’s obviously angry at himself. So you go with your least favorite option.

“Do you still want to be with me?” you ask. Your voice is tiny and weak and pathetic and again you think back to your conversation with Jake and how you had claimed you’re not a submissive little faggot. But here you are, being a fucking faggot.

You fucking hate yourself for using your word but it’s all you want to refer to yourself as now. Dirk the Faggot.

Jake takes a breath and you find hope blossoming in your chest despite the odds. You look at him. He looks at you. He frowns.

“It’d be a fib to sit here and tell you that I don’t want to be with you anymore,” Jake admits. He caresses your cheek and the sensitive spot under your hairline at the nape of your neck. “Even though I was irresponsible and did… that to you. Too soon, without proper preparation. I was careless and foolish! Even more so than I already am. But I do hope to fix my mistake and make it better. Do you trust me enough to do that?”

You nod once.

“It’d be fucking killer on my ego if I gained and lost a boyfriend in the time span of five hours.”

Jake laughs. It sounds tired and concerned, but it’s a laugh nonetheless.

“You really are too much, Strider.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Deceit lies behind every corner."

After that, you get into one of your famous quiet, melancholy moods. Jake doesn’t let you sleep with him that night, convinced that either him or you is going to try something. You don’t get much sleep, and right now you’re fairly certain you’d have nightmares even if you were to catch a few winks.

So you stare up expressionlessly at the ceiling as you lounge in the bed English so kindly let you borrow. It’s soft and comfortable and nothing like the shitty mattress you used to have. Not being able to sleep brings back some memories, seeing as you don’t have much else to think about. You vaguely remember your family not being so poor, but then there were some irresponsible purchases and those little things started adding up, and by the time you all realized it was probably a stupid idea, you were officially in the shitter. You suppose Bro’s freaky puppet sales can only carry you all so far.

Is it going to stick this time? His puppet making? He had sounded pretty excited over the phone earlier. You haven’t heard genuine, sincere excitement in his voice for quite some time. Dane isn’t much of a sentimental guy, not usually. Years of having to be strong has torn it from him.

Your restlessness makes you want to leave. So you sit up and stand, slow and fluid, before pulling on some normal clothes and exiting your bedroom. You are silent. Of course you are silent, you are a Strider, a master of stealth. You exit Jake’s apartment, but not before grabbing his keys from the hook beside the door. When you shut the door behind you, you re-lock it and can’t help but feel a little strange using his keys. Clutching the little bit of jagged metal in your hand, you pad down the carpeted hall and down the stairs. You can’t bring yourself to use the elevator for some reason, as if using the stairs will help you get feeling back in your legs. Honestly, you feel as if you are a robot on auto pilot.

It’s late. Really late. It’s four in the morning and the only people who are out and about are the partiers, the late night drinkers, the creeps. When you get into town, you get catcalled a couple times. You don’t really give a shit. Instead you walk down, down, down the sidewalk, making twists and turns everywhere and hoping that you can get lost.

Being older prevents that. No matter how hard you try to lose your sense of direction, your eyes automatically search for a cue, a landmark, in order to lead you back to Jake’s house when you come back to your senses. All at once you wish you were young again, running away from home, getting lost so simply and easily because life and experiences haven’t taught you otherwise. You remember being fearful but for an entirely different reason than you are now. Now, you avoid the ones who are stumbling as they walk, you avoid the beefy men in trench coats, you avoid the scantily clad men and women standing at street corners, waiting for a car to pull up beside them. Your common, basic instincts are what tell you to do this.

What has your life brought you, exactly? Growing older has… what? Has let you see the true evil in the world? Has allowed you to see that there are ulterior motives behind everything? That deceit lies behind every corner? You don’t remember things being quite so complicated when you were young. Even when you were Dave’s age. Sure, you understood the importance behind money and why it was a bad thing that the three of you had run out of it, but you had never imagined that the entire world was just as cruel as it was behind closed doors.

“Hey.”

So is that it? Is that all there is to life, growing up and realizing things aren’t happy happy joy joy, rainbows and puppies and unicorns? Paying to have an education, to live in an apartment, to drive a car, to have heating and air conditioning, basically paying to be alive? And that’s not all, there’s also a chance you’ll be violently murdered or die of an illness before you even hit five years old. What, exactly, is the point in that?

“Hey!”

It all just seems like a gigantic waste of time, something that-

You tense as a hand touches your shoulder and you whirl around at the speed of lightning, grabbing the hand and throwing it off of you like it’s on fire. You drop into a defensive stance, fists raised in an instant. The man who had touched you laughs and puts his hands up in surrender.

“Whoa, babe, I ain’t lookin’ for no trouble,” he says. He’s got other guys with him. You scowl from behind your shades. “C’mon babe, put a smile on that pretty face. Lemmie see those pretty eyes.”

“Shouldn’t this be shit you say to a woman?” you ask. Your lips quirk. “Or, better yet, to your mother? What would she think if you talk to her like that, hmmm?”

The guy lets out a forced laugh and gives his guy friends a look before turning back to you and crossing his arms.

“Got a smart mouth on you, don’t you babe? It’s okay, I like them feisty.”

“I’m genuinely confused here, because I obviously don’t have tits. What are you, some sort of catcalling cocksucker?”

“Who the fuck are you calling a cocksucker, you little twink ass faggot? I was just looking for an easy fuck.”

“So the cat comes out of the bag. My mere appearance has you itching for a piece of this ass, simply because I look weak and defenseless? That’s a surefire way to seduce me, pal. Ten out of ten, would consider you again. Now fuck off and try to corner someone in your own IQ bracket.”

In an instant, the douchebag throws himself at you like a wild animal, but all it takes is a gentle turn of your heel and a bit of leg strength and you use his momentum against him to flip him onto the sidewalk. It’s fun being able to kick the shit out of someone for once, because it’s usually you who ends up with your ass on the pavement. Bro and Dave know every single one of your moves; you have to adapt quick. You don’t have to be creative at all with these fuckers.

You only have to trip the next guy, then you grab the third guy’s arm as he runs towards you, swing him around, and throw him into the last guy. Once they’re all on the ground moaning, you graciously walk away from them. It had all taken place in the course of about two seconds, so obviously there were no witnesses. Even if someone _had_ seen it, you were barely fighting; you were just using your head like a sensible hand-to-hand combat master.

After that, the shot of adrenaline that had rushed to your head has you feeling much better and much more alive. You’re able to take control of your weird melancholy mood and send it crashing to the ground, leaving you awake and aware.

Your awareness makes itself known when you turn around to face none other than Jake English.

This is too much for irony, you decide. It’s so ironic that it’s _not_ and you’re not sure if it’s refreshing or unnerving. Twelve years ago you had been trailed by your brother when you had left in the middle of the night. That time, it had been to leave forever, and it had failed. This time it was simply to bask in your own thoughts about life. You were never planning on leaving forever, even though you now have the smarts and the ability to do it. Oh, how age has changed you. Oh, how this god forsaken city has caged you.

Anyway, all this time, you had been followed. And here stands Jake, looking a tad flustered and winded from power-walking behind you (had you been walking fast?) and there is pain and sadness in his eyes that make you want to embrace him.

“Don’t leave,” he breathes. “Please, please don’t leave me, Dirk.”

Your eyebrows rise up over the sharp angle of your shades. What? You had, and have, absolutely no intentions of leaving. And besides, wasn’t it Jake who wanted to distance himself after your failed attempt at a first fuck? You had been the clingy one. Now it’s him? Everything is so flipped turnways.

“I wasn’t going to leave,” you say, the confusion apparent in your voice. Jake lets out this choked-slash-relieved sound and bundles you up in his arms, squeezing you hard.

“I believe I have it worse for you than I originally thought, chap,” Jake says. He speaks in a whisper. He doesn’t seem to realize that he has lifted you straight off of your feet. You carefully embrace him back and bury your nose in the crook of his neck. “I couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t stop thinking about you. I heard you leave and I just. I panicked. I’m downright head over heels and this is quite ridiculous of me, isn’t it?”

“It’s pretty weird, yeah. Usually I’m the clingy one.”

“And I’m sure in some distant universe I wouldn’t appreciate that,” Jake chuckles, setting you down on your feet and holding you by the shoulders. “But right here and now I think I can handle some clinginess. Besides, you took my keys.”

You look down into your hand and find Jake’s apartment keys. Which just so happen to have all of his keys; his mailbox, his car, some other keys.

“You left your apartment without locking it up?” you ask incredulously. Jake laughs and pulls a singular key out of his pocket.

“I have a spare. A prepared adventurer is an alive adventurer! Why don’t we trade?”

You gaze at him for a long time before he confidently sticks the key out to you.

“Y’know. So you can get in whenever and I can… well, drive my automobile.”

You nod like an idiot and take his spare key like a blushing anime girl. It’s brass and kind of oily along the teeth and smells strongly of metal. It’s truly nothing special but you hold it in your hands as if it’s your own beating heart.

“Thanks,” you say.

“You’re welcome,” he says.

The two of you stand there for a long, long time. Then, Jake takes your hand in his. There are still people on the streets. You tell him this. He says he doesn’t care. You say that you do because you don’t want Jake getting his ass beat by homophobic toolbags. He says that he can handle himself and that he saw you take down those guys and that he was about to step in when you knocked them flat.

He says the two of you would make splendid battle buddies. You chastise him for using the phrase ‘battle buddies’. The two of you banter all the way back to his apartment.

It becomes silent again the moment you enter his home.

You don’t speak.

He doesn’t speak.

But he does take you to bed with him and sleeps with his body curled around you to prevent you from escaping again. You dream of nothing except the warmth around you.

* * *

 

You wake up to the sound of knocking, but Jake is so warm wrapped around you that you don’t care right now. Instead, you turn in his arms and lazily kiss his strong jaw, which is prickly with stubble. He mumbles something incoherent and presses his lips against yours with every kiss and peck you give him. His hand even comes up to cup the back of your head.

The knocking is becoming persistent, more of a banging now. You groan and Jake’s eyes begin to peel open.

“Good morning,” he mumbles. His breath is foul but you’re sure yours is not that great either. You shut his mouth with your lips against his, and he responds positively but tiredly. “Who’s at the door?”

He’s answered with a slam and a stomping sound before his bedroom door bursts open.

“Jake English, I thought I said to-”

Jane Crocker stares down at the two of you in bed, with your lips on his jaw. Jake doesn’t seem to grasp the severity of the situation until Jane is already turning and leaving. He practically shoves you off of him in order to chase her down.

“Jane wait, I can explain!” he cries. You realize he had taken off his pants in the middle of the night due to the heat and is in nothing but his t-shirt and boxers. You’re sure that doesn’t help matters. “Please wait!”

“Explain what? What is there to explain about how I just saw you in bed with my childhood best friend?! How long has this even been going on?” Jane finally asks in a shrill yell that has even you flinching. You cautiously slip out of bed and tiptoe to the doorway of the bedroom, where you peek around the corner. “You scared me half to death, you butt-dialed me and I thought it was some sort of emergency, then your door was unlocked for frig’s sake, but all I walk in to find is…”

She doesn’t finish and Jake looks helplessly at her.

“Jane I’m sorry,” he apologizes. “It’s…”

You grip the door frame. Jane spots you from over Jake’s shoulder and narrows her eyes.

“Say it,” she spits at Jake. “I dare you.”

“I love you, Jane. Nothing can change that.”

Your veins turn to ice.

“You’d leave him for me?”

Jake hesitates.

He hesitates and you honestly think you just heard your heart squelch, that’s how badly it hurt.

Jane doesn’t give him the chance to answer. She slaps him across the face.

“That’s for lying to me!” she shouts. She thinks for a moment, then backhands him, _twice_ as hard as she had initially slapped him. “ _That’s for lying to Dirk!_ ”

She stomps out. You stand still in the doorway to the bedroom. Jake turns to you and there are tears in his eyes. You wonder if the slap had hurt and, briefly, you cheer for Jane. But you’re not really in a cheerful mood right now. With gritted teeth, you look away from him and march to the guest bedroom, where your things are.

“No, nonono,” Jake begs. His voice breaks. “Please-”

“Please what?” you snap. You sound harsh and broken. You sound like Dane.

“Please let me explain.”

You look over your shoulder at him and for once you’re glad you don’t have your shades on. You want him to see just how much pain you’re in right now. It’s too early for this shit. This is just too much shit to dump on you at eight in the god damn morning.

“I love you, Dirk. I’m in love with you.”

You scoff.

“I didn’t want to date you because I love Jane, too. I didn’t want to hurt you. But I crumbled and I couldn’t help myself and I went and… I’m sorry.”

“Just how little do you care about the people around you?” you ask loudly. You turn to face him and he looks like a wounded animal with his tail tucked between his legs. The tears begin to dribble down his cheek and your heart wavers. You don’t back down. Your voice becomes louder, louder than you have ever dared, all of your volume rushing out of your lungs like a tidal wave. “All that bullshit about me being a minor, me being too small, all of that confusing bullshit, all of that fucked up shit that had me nearly in tears because I had a tiny fucking droplet of hope inside of me that dared to wish that you were mine, that was all a lie? Were you dating _Jane_ , too?”

Jake is silent and that’s all you need to know. You tense up and whirl away from him but he grabs your wrist and turns you back around. You’re too distraught to try and fight him off, so you just sigh and huff at him.

“Let go of me, Jake.”

“We weren’t official. Just a few dates.”

“And that makes it _better?!_ ” you scream. The volume of your voice has Jake blinking in surprise, which causes two tears to drip off of his eyelashes and onto the floor with a pit-pat. “Why didn’t you just tell me, we could’ve worked this out, we could’ve-”

You bite your lip and wish you had your shades because your eyes are misting up and threatening to spill. You don’t want to crumble under this even though Jake is practically sobbing right in front of you. Beefy army man, your ass.

“You almost took my fucking virginity, man,” you bite out. You snatch your wrist out of his hold and he reaches for you again, only for you to let out a bellow of fury and flip him over you onto his back. He lies there, groaning, while you stand over him with fists clenched. “That’s for lying to me.”

You kick him in the god damn stomach and he folds in on himself.

“And _that’s_ for lying to Jane!” you shout. You pause. “It’s over, Jake.”

You flashstep into the guest bedroom and throw your clothes on. You don’t even bother to style your hair. You pass Jake in the hallway, who is still on his side and moaning. Rushing past him, you reach into your pocket and grab your spare key. You almost throw it at the floor.

Almost.

Cursing yourself, you shove the key back into your pocket and leave the apartment.

This shouldn’t be a big deal and it shouldn’t hurt so bad. You hadn’t even dated the guy for more than twenty-four hours. But hell, you’ve been smitten with him since day one. Smitten with a greedy, selfish, douche of a guy who never truly cared about your feelings or the fact that you’re a minor, he just didn’t want to get caught two-timing.

You’re pretty sure that’s what it is. It’s still too early for you to be processing this. This is confusing you. You’re pretty sure this is also confusing the fucking asshole god who decided that this turn of events was okay. You’re definitely sure this is confusing your sick audience of heavenly angels as well, who are most positively looking at the god like ‘you’re a sick fuck and we also have no fucking clue as to what the fuck is going on right now, care to explain?’.

All you know for certain is that everything aches from your head to your heart and that you just want to go home. You want to go back to being a poor, dirty, malnourished fuck because that was when things were fucking easy and the only thing twisting itself into knots was your stomach. You’re delusional, of course, because having an achey-breaky heart is nothing compared to the feeling of a truly empty stomach. But you’re fucking upset, so you’ll be melodramatic and self-loathing if you want to, god dammit.

It’s hot as fuck and you are sweaty and dehydrated. Your body screams for water, so you stop at a stupid kiddie park and sip from the water fountain. You sit on the swing set for a while. It’s too early for this bullshit. You try to sort out what just happened and come to a few conclusions.

One, Jake English is a fucking asshole.

Two, he stole your first kiss.

Three, he almost took your fucking virginity, but in all honesty you probably had that coming since you were being a bit of a cockslut last night. Also, at that time you didn’t know about conclusion numero uno. In case anyone needs a refresher, Jake English is a fucking asshole.

Four, when he said ‘we have to tell Jane about this’, he probably meant that the two of you would have to fight for him like he was worthy of ruining a friendship over. Fuck him. You fucking hate him.

Five?

…You’re still balls deep in love with him.

You hunch forward and put your head in your hands because you’re an idiot and you really hate yourself right now. You’re a masochist. You dated this asswipe for a grand total of eighteen hours and you’re so unbearably and pathetically torn up over this that your heart feels like it’s cracking in two. Jake English just has that affect on people. You vaguely wonder if Jane feels the same way. You pull out your phone. You’ve already gotten a text from her.

_Call me if you need me any time, Dirk. I’m so sorry this happened. I’m sorry if I ruined things._

She’s blaming herself and you feel like you’ve been punched in the gut because this woman is pure kindness and love and you, a fucking child, had the audacity to swipe her almost-boyfriend from under her nose and ruin absolutely everything.

You want to go home.

You stand from the swingset and take up your duffel bags. You go to a bus stop, you board, you head home.

‘Home’ is occupied, which is perfect. Your door bangs open and Bro looks up at you in surprise from the futon. He’s sewing a smuppet. They’re all over the place. He has his laptop open to a brand new website that he most likely coded and built himself. His needle freezes in the plush flesh of the bright red smuppet. Your bags clatter to the floor.

A bit of metal slices through the air. Clips off the tip of Bro’s styled hair. You stand in the doorway, your arm outstretched. Bro slowly looks at the wall. A throwing star is nestled deep in the plaster.

It’s a blur of movement from there. Your bags forgotten, the two of you flashstep up the stairs like a pair of wild men, crashing against each other, hands around each other’s throats. It occurs to you that Bro probably thinks you’re fighting him because you’re angry with him. You decide to tell him after the two of you strife it out.

You draw your katana and he draws his massive greatsword. It’s much longer and much more powerful than Dave’s smaller, slimmer greatsword. It’s got a hook at the end to land some serious damage. The two of you are silent for a split moment before all hell breaks loose.

You throw everything you have at him. The strength behind your fury seems to surprise Bro just a tad, but still he parries you easily with one hand, metal against metal, sparks flying. He blocks your heavy overhand attack with the broad side of his blade, sending up a shower of sparks. When you have spent all of your downwards force, you use the bounce-back to springboard off of his blade and backflip onto the massive air conditioning unit. You widen your stance and stand there for a moment, arms outstretched, katana gripped in your fists, the exhaust air from the air conditioner making your shirt billow out around you. You’re like a fucking superhero, but right now you don’t give a shit about how beautiful you look.

Bro comes at you, greatsword scraping the ground with its sheer weight, then uses it to vault himself onto the air conditioning unit. He brings it down upon you full force and there is no way you can parry that, so you roll backwards and feel the shudder of metal as his sword bends the metal of the air conditioning and nearly breaks the damn thing.

He launches after you, a silhouette in the air against the blinding white backdrop of the sun, before coming down hard enough to make the gravel of the roof billow up around him and nearly blind you with the grit. You continue to backflip and spin and twirl out of his strikes, hoping to tire him out, but his stamina is far superior to yours.

You backflip onto the very edge and nearly teeter off the building, but he grabs your shirt and literally hurls you back to the center of the roof. You nearly eat grit, but you catch yourself with your hand and it gets ripped to shreds as you use it to turn yourself around and stick your katana straight up just as Bro flies overhead.

But of course he’s ready; he’s always ready, his greatsword skimming along the tip of your katana, bending the flexible blade. It’s nearly in slow motion as his shades glint down at you, and you glint right back up at him.

He turns midair and lands on his feet, skidding to a halt. He’s breathing hard but he does not quit, he just lifts his sword again and comes charging at you, the deadly hook of the sword shimmering with blood. When had you been cut?

You hold up your sword and you bring it down. You bring it down again. He’s backing up now, parrying you, his brows furrowed. Sheer strength does not beat a greatsword. Your sword is meant for speed, for carving delicately in between ribs. His sword is meant for blocking and for crushing. Right now, you are trying to crush with a dinky little sword and you know he knows something is much more wrong than you are letting off.

“Dirk.”

You let out a choked sound of effort. You have to beat him, you have to beat him this time, because you are strong, because you are the one who is the destroyer of hearts, you’re not supposed to be the one who is destroyed. You find yourself becoming more and more frustrated and with the frustration comes inaccuracy. Bro simply drops his greatsword now and sidesteps your clumsy attacks.

“Dirk. Bro.”

“EGH!” is sort of what comes out of your mouth. You’d like to think of it as a manly grunt but it sounds more like a sob.

“Dirk! _Dirk!_ ”

He’s bellowing your name but you keep swiping, stumbling now as you do so. The sweat on your face makes your shades clatter to the ground and you’re weeping, you’re openly weeping in front of your brother and you are such a pussy bitch right now that it’s unbearable. You were a pussy last night, you were a pussy this morning, and you’re a pussy now. Dane has to know this. He must be disappointed in what you’ve become.

On your final stumble, Bro grabs your katana with his gloved hand. It slices into the leather and blood drips down your blade as you try to force it in deeper. He tilts his hand and bends your sword in half before ripping it out of your grip and throwing it to the ground. You nearly fall to your knees but he grabs your arm and roughly turns you around. You’re vaguely aware that you’re sobbing that you’re sorry but he only pulls you into his arms and hugs the shit out of you.

You slump in his arms and you’ve never felt so much relief flood into you at once. He’s petting your fucking hair, smearing blood into the platinum locks, and he’s fucking holding you like you’re a little kid. Not once does he utter a single condescending word as you completely fucking fall apart in his arms. It makes you feel less like a bitch and more like a human.

_“Li’l man. Li’l man, listen to me. Look at me right now.”_

_It’s the night after you had run away. You’re five years old and you’re crying your eyes out because, unlike last night, now your brother wants answers. You hiccup and sob and wail and snot is dripping down your face because you’re crying so hard. You’re much too ashamed to admit to him why you left, but he forces it out of you with those stern eyes._

_You tell him you felt lonely. That Dave was getting all of the attention. But at the same time, you felt like you were too much for Bro, that you didn’t deserve to be here._

_“Shit, Dirk.”_

_You cry more and he assures you that he’s not angry and instead takes you into his arms. You’re trying so hard to control yourself, you can’t breathe you’re trying so hard. You’re trying to be strong for Bro because that’s all he is for you. Strong. He is a boulder among the pebbles that are your life. You squeeze your eyes shut because big boys don’t cry. That’s what Bro said._

_“Heh. Stop pulling that face. You need to poop?”_

_You shake your head and you grip his shirt and you try to suck your tears back into your eyes. Bro is silent for a long time._

_“What did I say about crying?”_

_Not to cry, you say._

_“Incorrect, li’l man. I said that the only time you’re allowed to cry is when you’re in private and no one can see you. There’s only one person in the whole fuckin’ world who’s allowed to see those tears.”_

“What did I say about cryin’?” Bro asks, jarring you from your trip down memory lane. It’s been so long since Bro held you, and only you, like this. You hide your face in his chest.

“The only time I’m allowed to be a pussy is when I’m alone,” you mutter. Bro cups your head in his hand for a moment before continuing to stroke your hair.

“Not a pussy, because you are within the lines here, man, you fuckin’ held yourself together before you came home, weren’t’ya?”

“Yes.”

“Bein’ a pussy means cryin’ when you’re not alone, aight?”

“You’re here.”

“You know the rest of the rule, you li’l shithead. You’re allowed to cry when you’re alone and…?”

You hunch up a little and give a soft hiccup. He runs his fingers along your hairline.

“…And when I’m in your arms.”


	14. ANNOUNCEMENT -- PLEASE READ

For those of you not following my TUMBLR account, there is new information regarding ALBSTRI, and is as follows:

_'As many of you know, I have dropped ALBSTRI due to the fact that it is blatantly fetishizing gay relationships. Not only that, it’s another *STORY ABOUT TWO WHITE DUDES STICKING THEIR DICKS IN EACH OTHER’S BUTTS*. The story also glamorizes Dirk/Dane/Dave being poor, and is, frankly, pretty offensive. However, I really didn’t want to drop another project in the middle. So I think I will be rewriting ALBSTRI to be less problematic. I will be switching up a lot of the story, ages, personalities, etc, because the ‘dirk is ALMOST A MINOR!!!’ trope is SEVERELY problematic, and I am a better writer than that. So look forward to more information regarding ALBSTRI.'_

 

**I understand that many of you like or adore the story, but the comfort of marginalized groups is more important to me than popularity on AO3. Please do NOT attempt to talk me out of significantly changing the story, because I have grown drastically as a writer and as an advocate of equal rights, and no matter how you look at it, ALBSTRI as it stands now is EXTREMELY problematic.**

**Thank you for understanding.**

P.S.: the new ALBSTRI will be posted as a new story, aka this work will be dropped and eventually deleted. Check back on my profile on AO3 periodically for more information!


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